Bonnie Princess Charlene
Copyright© 2026 by Omachuck
Chapter 6: Blood
Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 6: Blood - 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
Riding out from Beavis was a relief. They were rested, clean, and well stocked for continuing onwards. Not everyone in town was sullen or downtrodden, but enough of them were that the town felt dark. The group’s mood had brightened for several reasons. Among them was the sure knowledge that they were on the correct road leading to the Hero Pēteris’ compound and Healer Robyn’s medical ‘college’. And Charlene’s lifted because her goal seemed attainable now that she knew that the road led on to the warlord Hastert’s holdings where Charlene hoped she could stay until her own Hero appeared.
While they still needed to travel on alert, periodic travels by the Hero Pēteris and his Companions should mean that the worst of robbers and such were regularly removed. Still, it would be tendays more of travel and plenty of time for some opportunists to prey on the less-than-prepared.
Their stay in Beavis had given them time to reflect and consider and act. They stored extra weapons and traveling needs in their boxes at the bank, so they no longer required as many ‘spare’ mounts. While the extra horses did provide a buffer from attackers, their care was nevertheless an increased burden upon the travelers. It was decided that they would keep four spares and leave the rest with Purvis to sell or keep as his fee.
You can’t win all the time. Even with the best preparations, equipment, and training, things just go wrong. This is known as ‘Sometimes you bite the bear, and sometimes the bear bites you!’ One afternoon tendays further onwards, the bear got a chunk.
At first, their preparations worked flawlessly. They were riding on a straight, wider-than-usual, stretch of road, bordered by dense forest. From a break in the woods, three men rode out and loosed arrows at the two supposed lead riders. Heris, riding somewhat back was to be the second target. She managed to get arrows into two of the ambushers before they recognized her as the true threat. Charlene thundered past her with her lariat and unhorsed the third. So far, so good.
In the rear, Flora’s scarecrows were almost equally effective. She managed an arrow in one charging attacker, but another approaching rider managed to weave around the blocking string, missed a slash at the fake, and took a wild swing at Flora in passing. Her bow deflected his sword, and it missed decapitating her, but carved a flap of skin on her neck, causing her to drop the leads to her following blockers.
Angélique hearing the beat of hooves, had turned her horse and was able to put an arrow into the galloping horse, which tumbled, breaking the rider’s neck.
The wounded Flora was barely able to fend off the blows from her second attacker, until Earle and Angélique each placed a quarrel in him. Clutching at her injury, Flora slowly fell to the ground.
Angélique galloped to Flora’s aid while calling, “Flora’s down! I need help.”
Earle dismounted and walked to the three downed riders and the one wounded horse. He knew enough to dispatch the men with a quick thrust through an eye, but the suffering animal was another matter for the young boy. He, too, called for help.
Charlene whirled around, dashed back, and reached the young boy first. Recognizing his problem, she leapt from her own horse and walked to the wounded beast that was struggling to rise. The mare was beyond hope, so Charlene used a scarf to cover the frightened horse’s eyes and used her dagger to open an artery. The poor animal began to bleed out and Charlene whispered to her until her struggles ceased.
Earle walked over to his sister who had moved the dangling flap of skin in place over Flora’s bleeding wound and was pressing hard. He stared for a moment, swallowed hard, and asked, “What can I do to help?”
Angélique glanced up at him and said, “See to the horses. I’ll hold on to Flora until Heris or Charlene gets here. They’ll know better what to do about this wound – at least I hope so.”
Yet unaware that Flora was wounded, and having seen to the suffering horse, Charlene walked over to Angélique. Startled to see Flora on the ground with an upset Angélique tending to her, she patted her shoulder and said, “I’ve been trained in what our folk call ‘first aid’. It’s designed to keep a wound from getting worse until a real healer can see to it. Let me look.”
Having ascertained that the attacker’s swipe had missed any large blood vessels, Charlene began to take full charge. “For an hour or so, we need to make a hasty camp. We can use the clearing where the rogues were hiding, even if it has no water. Earle, gather wood for a fire and stone for a fire pit, then get a good blaze going and let it burn down to coals.”
Surveying the roadside, she instructed Angélique, “Hold her while I fetch a ground cloth to lay her on and blankets both to pad and warm her. She’ll be shivering soon.” As she moved away, she turned to Heris, “I need you to get Flora’s sewing kit and its strongest thread. We’ll be boiling water to make sure the needle and thread are clean. I’m glad we thought to boil some bandages against need. I’ll also want some unwatered wine to clean Flora’s wound and more for her to drink. I have nothing more to give her for pain, unless you or Flora have willow bark we can use to make tea. Wine will still be faster.”
“Once we have that gathered and made Flora comfortable,” Charlene told Heris, “You and Earle can tend to the horses and strip the bodies. I’ll want Angélique to tend the fire and help me with Flora.”
Charlene and Angélique moved Flora to the ground cloth and wrapped her in blankets. Soon the wine arrived. Charlene had Angélique hold Flora while she peeled back the flap of skin and poured a hefty amount of wine over the front and back of the flap, into the open wound, and onto the surrounding skin. She took a pad of bandage and scrubbed, stopping when Flora woke from her faint and screamed. “Give her some wine, as much as she will drink,” she instructed her assistant. “Then gently hold her head still again while I make sure there is no dirt or other nastiness in there.”
In a few minutes, Earle’s efforts had water starting to boil in a kettle sitting on a rock near the still blazing fire. Following Charlene’s directions, Angélique placed needle and thread into a smaller pot, poured in some of the heated water, and placed the pot on another stone near the fire. Willow bark went into a cup to steep for half an hour, and then honey would be added to mask the taste. When the mixture cooled sufficiently, Charlene lifted her friend’s head and had her sip until it was gone.
She waited some to allow the natural analgesic to take effect, and then told Angélique, “Now comes the really hard part. When I tell you, I need you to hold her head steady again. I’m going to sew the wound closed.” She carefully poured the boiling water from the pot holding the needle and thread, then put the pot aside so the remaining water would evaporate. She walked a little away and washed her hands with the strongest soap they had and rinsed with unwatered wine, Shaking the wine from her hands, she returned, fished the needle and thread from their container, and bent to her new task.
As she sewed, she explained to Angélique, “There are animals smaller than our eyes can see, and they love to feast on open wounds. In fact, there are others that can invade our bodies and make us ill. Boiling kills them, as does the alcohol in wine. If we are very careful and very lucky, we’ve killed all or most that might harm Flora. Just in case, I’ll leave a small opening at the bottom edge of her wound. That way, if some escape, Flora’s body can fight them, and any nastiness can drain.
By the time she finished her explanation, Heris was watching and listening. When she had Charlene’s attention, she said, “I never knew why he did it, but Father always had wounds treated with boiled water, wine, and sometimes honey.” She looked at her companions and told them, “I found a stream at the back of that clearing. It isn’t very big, but it runs clear and will be enough if we need to stay for a day or two. I hobbled the horses back there so they have grass and water.”
“I think we will know tomorrow if we can stay or need to hurry on and hope to find Healer Robyn or Healer Robinblue,” Charlene opined. “Let’s get Flora moved into the clearing and make camp.”
When dawn came, they found that only Earle had achieved much sleep. Flora’s neck was red and swollen and a truly ugly bruise was blossoming. However, there were no red streaks. That news was but minor comfort to Flora whose pain was only a little relieved by the willow bark tea. She could feed herself and, if helped with her balance, tend to her morning toilet needs, but neither Heris nor Charlene trusted her alone on horseback.
“It is best we break camp and move on, even if we don’t get on the road till late morn, and I think we can leave much faster if we bundle the clothes and weapons and sort them out later,” Heris said. “And, with all the extra horses, we should be able to swap and ride without wearing them out. Of course, it’s going to be hard on us.”
“How’s this going to work?” Charlene asked. “She can’t ride alone, and only Heris and I are strong enough to hold her. That leaves us short riders to ride both scout and trail.”
“Don’t count me out on either score,” Angélique spoke softly, not wishing to brag, “With the number of horses we can trail, Earle and I can safely ride rear guard, and if she’s astride, I’m sure I can ride with Flora for an hour or so. I just won’t be able to use my bow.”
Even for the well-practiced travelers, packing and loading took longer than usual – more horses, more gear, fewer hands. They decided that Heris would continue to lead, Charlene would trail, Earle would lead the mules with their gear, and they’d give Angélique the opportunity to make good her assessment of her capability.
Getting Flora settled was a major time consumer. Angélique mounted. Using a fallen tree, Heris and Charlene assisted Flora in mounting and getting seated in front of Angélique. Heris mounted and rode next to the pair and used a wide piece of leather to belt them together. “This is dangerous enough when you are fresh,” Heris told them, “When you get the least tired, call or send Earle forward so I can find a place to safely stop. I don’t need to make you promise?”
With their straw men accompanying front and back, the ‘cavalcade’ got under-way at a comfortable walk. Somewhat over an hour passed, and the mild temperature began to drop with strong winds of a gust front pressing their clothing against increasingly chilled bodies. Tree branches whipped the air and some of the trees seemed to lean into their path. Leaves were torn from them and thrown at the riders. Heris rode back down their line and told the travelers, “Rain coming. There’s no good place to stop and shelter. We need to get covered and maybe speed up a little.”
Soon it began to rain in sheets. The only luck involved was the interval following the gust front’s start, allowing time to don their oiled leathers and to wrap Angélique and Flora with an oiled leather groundcover. As Heris indicated, there was no acceptable place to halt and shelter, and returning back to the last clearing was not a viable option. Heris, after conferring with Angélique, decided that they would continue on until they found a place they could safely help Flora dismount. The downpour continued.
Riding in her lonely, mud-splashed, rear position, Charlene compared her experience on Chaos to the popular video stories and the various books and magazines. All spent detailed attention on the sex, the actions of the Heroes, the sex, the babies, the sex, the rescue of Damsels from dire straits, and the sex. She’s never seen one that depicted the mind-numbing rides in heat, dust, drizzle and storms. Nor had she seen depictions of day after day drudgery. Blood and gore were always heroic not gut-wrenching nasty and certainly not the pus leaking from the infected wound of a friend.
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