Bonnie Princess Charlene
Copyright© 2026 by Omachuck
Chapter 2: Runaway
Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 2: Runaway - 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
By the time sorting was done, the acquired clothing and their own washed and dried, and various delayed camp chores completed, their daylight was fading along with their energy. Traveling tired was not a good idea, so they prepared for sleep and this time, they faded quickly.
After another night of rest, Charlene woke holding a weeping woman, a woman trying desperately to hide her sorrow, and to keep from showing weakness. Charlene squeezed and whispered, “I know you aren’t weak, and neither am I. Let me carry some of the load, and you take the time you need to grieve. I truly think we have time to rest and plan.”
Flora patted her hand and responded, “I agree; we’ll take another day. We’ll talk, learn about each other, become partners, and spend some time learning our new horses. I saw your bravery and your skills. I want to know – is a ‘Damsel’ born so? Anointed? How came you?”
“Latrine, horses, chickens, and breakfast first,” Charlene declared, and rolled from their blankets. She visited the latrine, threw in some dirt, and took feed to the horses. Time invested the previous afternoon paid back as the small herd moved toward her in greeting. First among them was Marty, looking for the treat he already expected. She fed him a carrot and scratched his ears, then lightly scolded him for his jealousy when she gave each of the other horses a carrot.
As she returned to assist with breakfast, she chided herself, “Now I’ve done it, created expectations with the last of our fresh vegetables.”
She found Flora skinning two rabbits caught by her overnight snares. Beside her was a small basket filled with mushrooms – morels she thought. Charlene apologized when she saw how much the woman had accomplished, “Sorry, I didn’t realize I was spending so much time with the horses.”
“Was time well spent,” Flora told her. “There’s too many of the beasts to manage easily, and the tamer they become, the better. I think we should spend the morning grooming them and maybe a little exercise. Get them accustomed to us. Invest all that time, then sell them.” She grinned. “If they’re well-behaved, they will bring a better deal.”
She finished cleaning the rabbits and spitted them. “I took a chance with a dry-wood fire. There won’t be much smoke to attract interest, but we need to pay attention for noise on the road or coming through the woods. Can’t eat raw rabbit, and it won’t keep now that the weather is warming.”
With the rabbits roasting, she turned and handed Charlene a wooden bowl. “The last of the cooked chicken and some scrambled eggs. Midday will be rabbit and mushrooms, and I expect evening will be much the same unless I find some roots or greens. Ham in the morning, maybe eggs if the hens lay.”
They sat side-by-side eating and watching the horses graze. At least the newly formed herd seemed to get along, maybe due to Marty being the sole stallion. Charlene was thinking, and then said, “Brushing is a good idea, and I want a closer look at all the herd’s shoes and tack. It wouldn’t be a good thing if some rotten leather parted at full gallop.
She paused, “I think I can use some of the rope for a lariat. That’s the specialty loop I told you about,” she explained. “I’ll take some time to practice this afternoon, and you can see how it might work into our defense tactics.”
As the pair brushed their seven horses, Flora again requested Charlene’s story.
“In my country,” Charlene began, “fertility is low – especially among the men. Women who want a child usually must travel here.”
“You mean you cock burners can get preggers by our men – that painful rutting?”
“Not at all! By taking the risk of coming here, we can earn the right to a baby by a true Hero that we meet from yet another country,” Charlene explained, “As I told you before, they call us women on that quest Damsels!”
“Sounds crazy to me!’ Flora was astounded and indignant. “Your side of the deal is as stupid as our side. Sounds exactly like something designed by a man. A sadist at that. A chastity belt for women wanting to get pregnant! Are your menfolk jealous of ours? Who gets you pregnant?”
“Our men are largely indifferent to the sex part but are hugely jealous of the political power and attention,” Charlene explained. “The potential fathers are known as ‘Heroes’, because they too risk their lives to rescue us from dangers such as rape and slavery. They come from a third country solely for that purpose. We reward them with a lot of sex until we become pregnant.”
“Then what?” Flora wanted to know. “Happy fatherhood and family, I suppose.”
“Not hardly! Immediately after pregnancy is confirmed, the Hero is booted out, and the Damsel never sees him again ... Forever horny, too!”
“Totally fucked up system!” Flora declared. “We need to find this magic formula, get you all the happy sex you want, and then get us both totally pregnant!”
“Well, the system has been in place since forever, and our population is still shrinking,” Charlene mused. “I’d be all in for lots of sex and many babies. Screw the politicians!”
Flora was cross. “I never should have brought those chickens. Too much trouble; too noisy and liable to give us away. I’m going to cook them and then dry the meat. If we are not leaving until tomorrow evening, there’ll be time. Why don’t you enlarge the corral and let the herd have some fresh grazing?”
“Hello, the camp!” came a new voice, “Is a peaceful visitor welcome?” A young man, who appeared to be around fifteen, stood in the shadows of the wood’s edge.
Flora lifted her bow and nocked an arrow and Charlene moved aside from Marty and began twirling her lasso.
“Slow and easy, and you’ll be welcome,” Flora called. “I’d like to see empty hands.”
The youth approached, one hand empty and the other holding a staff. On his back were a large pack and a bow and quiver. At his waist was a large knife equally useful for hunting or camp chores. When he neared Flora, he laid down his staff and asked, “Is this okay, mistress?”
“Eejit,” Flora muttered another of her favorite Gaelic expletives under her breath. As neither of the women had bound their breasts, their gender was on display for anyone to see. “Yes, settle your things and sit here near me,” she welcomed. “We’ve rabbit and mushrooms for lunch, and I thought to make pan bread. My name is Flora.”
“The only thing I have as fine as that offering is a gourd of honey from a hive I found three days ago. My name is Heris, and I’d gladly share.”
“What caused you to search us out?” Flora inquired.
“Several days ago, those four horses,” he pointed, “caught me unaware and nearly ran me off the road. Then, two evenings ago, two riders with three horses walked by me as I slept. This morning, I saw flies around blood in the road and other signs of a fight. I looked back in the woods and found three bodies. I decided to look further to see if anyone needed assistance. From the signs, I’d say you and the other lady were very lucky or very skilled in surviving that ambush.”
“Some of both, I think,” Flora told him. “I’m a decent shot, and Charlie over there was able to surprise and distract them. Maybe they were just sleepy. We’d planned to stay another day, but if the bodies are that easily discovered, I suppose we’d better leave this evening. We travel by night.”
“Maybe not,” Heris demurred, “I think most on horseback would have missed the signs, and you are far enough from the road that your camp sounds don’t carry. BUT you were very easy to sneak up on.” He warned and changed the subject, “Would you mind if I use your pond to bathe and wash my clothes?”
When Flora nodded permission, Heris opened first a leather jerkin, and then a linen doublet, revealing breasts?! Not developed enough to need additional restrictions, but definitely feminine. Flora gasped.
Heris smirked, “I’ve watched you the better part of the morning. Were you not women, I’d have moved on. Horses make enough noise when traveling that there’d be plenty of time to hide while you passed.”
She took her pack to the stream, spread her ground cloth on the grass, and dumped her clothes. Looking over her shoulder, she called back. “It would be a good idea to stop washing with that sweet-smelling soap ... if you have something else you can use. I could smell it as I approached your camp. That alone would likely give you away.”
After some time washing herself and then her clothes, Heris laid her damp belongings on the ground cloth to dry. Then she returned naked to the fire, bringing only her leather jerkin to sit upon. Accepting a bowl of rabbit and mushrooms, she began to talk around mouthfuls, that she chewed slowly. “I don’t know where you obtained the clothes you are wearing, but they won’t do to protect you. They appear to be from soft-living dandies, and those orange pantaloons are easily spotted from a long ways off. You need me!”
Stung by that critique, Flora demanded, “We’ve done just fine so far. What makes you so sure your joining us would be more beneficial to us than to you?”
“Don’t be more offended, but I’ve asked myself the same question in the opposite direction,” Heris soothed. “The simplest answer is that a traveling party of three has a better chance of surviving. A more thorough answer is that it’s clear you both are town or village raised, and I’m forest bred. Different skills, you see. And we aren’t likely to spend much time in a village for the foreseeable future.”
Seeing the sense in Heris’ short explanation, Charlene asked, “So other than numbers, what do you think we two can offer? And what’s with the fancy way of expressing yourself – doesn’t sound much like woodsy to me?”
“My father was landed,” Heris told her. “On alternate days, I was sent into the forest with his huntsman, and on the others, I was book-schooled. Still no village skills...” She continued, “What else can you offer? The obvious is a horse to ride. I’m a runaway, so I need cover – protection. I’ll explain later, just understand that I do need you as much as you need me.”
“So tell us, what can we do better – aside from changing soap?” Flora asked, still a little testy.
“First, putting your horses in a corral is a mistake – and I realize you found the jackasses’ horses situated that way – but they were jackasses and amateurs. A better strategy in a meadow like this is to hobble the horses. They will have plenty of grass and water, will require less effort, and won’t be able to stray. Then second,” Heris continued, “you should be modifying your newly acquired boiled leather. Cloth won’t provide protection from riding through brush nor in a fight. My jerkin and leather pants aren’t just for show; they were my everyday attire when I was in the woods.”
Charlene and Flora looked at each other and nodded. “Besides running away, do you have an objective?” Charlene inquired.
“I plan to kill my father’s murderer and reclaim his lands,” Heris told them. “To do that, I’ll need to find a strong husband. Women can’t inherit lands, and keeping those taken by force is almost impossible. Some wannabes would almost continuously attack what they think is a weak holding. I think adventuring will be a good way to build up strength, gain allies, and locate a good man.”
“Your goals and mine are not far apart,” Charlene told her. “If the right man finds me, or me him, he’s likely to have an ally that would make you a good husband.” Sotto voce to Flora, she muttered, “By whatever name she’s called, I think we found our real princess!”
She changed the subject, “So let’s hobble the horses and then look to the leathers we took from our ambushers. You can show us how they should be modified. We can talk more while we work.”
“And travelers don’t wear pressed clothes.” As they worked, Heris continued her lectures to her two new companions. “After tendays on the road, they are fortunate if some of their clothing isn’t falling off their bodies. I think we need to spend another day or two here so you can adjust your wardrobes and spend some time in weapons training. Swords won’t help you if you don’t know how to use them.”
“Aside from fancy talking,” Flora asked, “What were you studying when you weren’t in the forest?”
“War, tactics, weaponry, fencing, archery ... pretty much the stuff my father would have taught a son,” Heris responded shyly. “My father was an officer in General Sid’s army during the Slaver Wars. The general gave him translations of a book called The Prince and a longer one called Field Manual 3dash90 – Tactics. I’ve read both so often, I pretty much have memorized them. I can’t claim to understand some of the weapons described, but the tactics make a lot of sense.”
Heris paused and a tear leaked down one cheek. “If Father had heeded The Prince more than the Field Manual I think he’d still be alive. He was poisoned.”
Silence followed her declaration and lasted until Flora rose to gather the ingredients for their evening meal.
Finished with that meal and the subsequent clean-up, the trio decided to examine and model their new travel attire.
Charlene went first. Her long, pale blond hair was drawn into a tight bun, covered by a feathered cap whose brim was just wide enough to shade her nose and ears. Her ample breasts were tightly bound, and she wore a dun-colored linen shirt over which a tight boiled-leather vest covered her from neck to below her groin. Her shoulders were protected, but the armor had no sleeves, so she wore leather gauntlets to her elbows. Her trousers were leather, lined with linen, and her boots rose to her knees. Elements of her attire were somewhat loose, but altering almost-fitting gloves and boots for an exact fit wasn’t possible with the time and resources available.
Flora also wore linen-leather trousers and a boiled-leather vest. Her own boots and gloves would serve; those of the attackers were far too large and went into the trade pile.
A final innovation for all three was the modification of dresses so that they fit over their leather vests. In that way they could alter their apparent gender with minimal sacrifice to their protection.
Another day had passed with little rest, so the trio decided that another night’s sleep was earned and daylight travel was safe enough.
In the morning, saddling and loading the horses took longer than expected. The extras were strung together with pigtail leads. The newly formed trio anticipated a shorter prep time in the future as they and the horses became accustomed to the new routine and shared tasks.
Heris rode out in the lead on her newly chosen pinto mare that she named Libby. Three uneventful days stretched to a fourth, and a routine settled in for start, travel, and finish. They settled into a pattern of four days of travel and then two of rest.
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