Cinderella - an Erotic Fairy Tale 

By Cordelia Speedicut

The First Part

The story retold, and introducing a Witch, some ruffians and rats, a Curse, and a Member of Unusual Size.

Once upon a time, there lived a young girl named Cindy, who was probably the happiest girl in the kingdom. Her father was a rich merchant, and he doted on her, spoiling her with pretty clothes and shiny bobbles. She grew to become a singular beauty and she got all kinds of shagging. From the neighbourhood boys, not her father – this isn’t that kind of tale. Her mother would bake her cookies (or, at least she had the servants do it) and Cindy would sing and play and screw away her days, without a care.

And then it all went to shit. Her mother died suddenly - nobody got the number of the red coach that ran her down. Her father went into a decline and closed himself in his room all day, not eating, not merchandizing. He ignored the household accounts, and the servants all left with the silverware. Cindy did the best she could, but things got steadily worse, until one day a woman she had never seen before came to the door and offered to nurse her father back to health.

The woman, whose name was Hilda, succeeded marvellously. Her father’s bedsprings sang night and day, until a week later he emerged to announce to Cindy that he was going to re-marry on the morrow. So the very next evening Hilda, who was now Cindy’s stepmother, moved in the rest of her belongings. A lovely crimson coach pulled up filled with trunks and bales and Hilda’s two daughters. 

Cindy’s new stepsisters were unfriendly and unlovely – in a word they were ugly. Worse, her stepmother turned out to be just as rotten. Wicked, even. They treated her very badly. She had to do all the work she had done before, and now be their servant too, although there was lots of money to hire new staff. Since they made her clean out the ovens and the fireplace (as well as everything else), they took to calling her Cinderella. It was Cinderella scrub this, Cinderella fetch that, the whole day long.

It was all quite dreadful. Hilda made sure her father worked long hours at his office, and when he was home he ignored Cindy. It was as though he was in a trance. And the boys began to stay away; except for one she didn’t really like much anyway. He only came around because Hilda would pay him to make out with her ugly daughters, a gold piece per base per daughter, no discounts for threesomes.

When the palace announced a masquerade ball was to be held in honour of the young Prince Alan’s twenty-first birthday, Cindy’s father naturally received an invitation. (Did I mention he was rich?) Small good this did Cindy. Her stepsisters only laughed at her when she wistfully said how fine it would be to go, and then they told her to be more careful ironing their gowns. 

The night of the ball, Cindy found herself home alone cleaning out the fireplace yet again, and weeping, her falling tears lifting little puffs of ash as they landed at her feet. 

“Cinderella! How shallow can you get?” asked a voice from behind her.

Cindy whirled around to confront a short dumpy figure in a sequined dress. “It’s Cindy! And I don’t care,” she wailed. “I wanted to meet the Prince!” Then she added, “Who the heck are you?”

“I’m Shirley, your Fairy Godmother, of course.” 

Cindy thought Shirley was a bit mannish looking, and her dress didn’t really fit very well, so that the tops of her bosoms were squeezed out, but she sparkled so she was clearly magical. She soon proved it.

“You really want to go to this thing, huh?”

“Oh, yes, please!”

“You got it then, dearie!” Shirley pulled a little stick out of her belt, waved it in the air, and flash – Cinderella’s ragged dress became a slinky gown of silk the colour of soot. This particular shade of grey may not be so great when it’s smudged on a girl’s face and knees, but if it is on her low-cut dress, one that clings like a second skin, and which allows you to imagine you can see everything through its sheerness – then it is HOT. 

Cindy looked down. Her old dress had done its best to squash her breasts flat, making breathing difficult, but in this dress they stuck out proudly before her. And her hair, which had been tied up in an old kerchief, now flowed glossy and free over her bare shoulders. She could easily pass for twenty. 

There was another flash, and Cindy felt a gentle pressure on her head. Looking in the mirror over the mantle she saw she was now wearing a tiara, its thin circlet of gold dusted with so many diamonds that she appeared to be wearing a halo of light. It flared brightly as it reflected the flash of the Fairy conjuring Cindy some classy slippers.

Shirley was on a roll, now. Flash again – and some hapless kittens became footmen.  Another flash and a pumpkin in the corner became a shiny black coach, knocking over the buffet and dining table. “Shit,” said the Fairy, as she flashed it out onto the street. More bursts of light, and six cowering mice suddenly became rather confused ponies, and two rats who were trying to slip out the back way found themselves transformed into Hired Goons. “They’ll look after you,” Shirley said. Their shifty eyes and the ratty tails protruding from under their cloaks suggested otherwise, but when she flourished her wand and added, “or else,” they took the hint.

 “Thank you! Thank you!” Cindy squealed, giving her Fairy Godmother a huge hug and kissing her powdery cheek.  She was so excited she just had to perform a spin test in her gown, twirling around to see the effect. Her hair lofted up, but, wonderfully, so did her tight skirt, floating up around her as though it was made of gossamer. She danced across the room, unaware that she was flashing excellent views of her delectable little pussy. The goons leered.

“Hmm. That reminds me,” said Shirley. “One last thing. Or two, actually.” With a flash Cindy was wearing a black mask, not the sort one wore for a masquerade, usually, but rather a narrow band of black silk knotted over her left ear. The effect was quite exotic, making her look like a corsair princess. Except …

“Shit,” the fairy muttered again, there was a small ‘puff’, and Cindy blinked through the two eyeholes that had abruptly appeared in her mask. 

Then a final flash – and nothing to see at all. “Now you can handle the prince’s curse,” Shirley said with a smirk.

“What curse?” Cinderella’s eyes shone wide, inside her mask.

It was the Fairy’s turn to be surprised. “What?  Oh … well, a few years back the Prince used to run with a pretty rough crowd. You ever heard of Pisstol? Baredolph? Pym? No? How about Fullstaff?” Her eyes misted over at some fond memory. “No – I suppose you wouldn’t have. They used to carouse and drink down in Westcheap, mostly in Mistress Speedy’s place - the Boar's Little Head. You’re sure you never heard this story?” 

Cindy shrugged, so Shirley continued on, “The Prince was just a youngish lad then, mind. So when a raggedy old woman came in and asked for a jar of cider, Prince Al made fun of her pointy black hat. Everyone went quiet and moved away from him … um, so they tell me,” she added. “Anyway, the old girl just smiled and offered to grant him a wish. Everybody moved back another couple of feet, but Al didn’t take the hint, and said he wouldn’t mind being hung like a horse. We all … I mean, everyone there gasped, excepting the witch. She just glowered – he’d taken all the fun out of it, you see. It was like shooting fish in a barrel.”

“So what happened?”

“So, after that, all of Prince Al’s girlfriends ran away, and people started calling him Al the Peg – behind his back, of course.”

“Al the Peg?”

“You know – the man with the extra leg?”

“Extra leg?” Cindy puzzled, “Oh – you mean his peggo!” She beamed, as the light dawned. Then, as the full implications hit her, she added, “Ohh!”

“It’s sort of got a mind of its own, too, but I’m not entirely sure that was the witch’s doing. Most of them are like that, anyway.”

Cindy goggled and looked down at the grey silk outlining her tingling pussy. Her Fairy Godmother seemed to have done something to her, but she didn’t feel any different.

Shirley marvelled at the girl’s innocence, given her favourite pastime. She would have been knocked up long since, had it not been for her Fairy Godmother. “Oh, and, mumble, mumble midnight,” she said.

“Say what?”

“I said, you have to be out of there by midnight. The magic is mostly, like, a time-limited deal.” The Fairy Godmother looked a little defensive. “So get going!”

“Aren’t you coming with me?” Cindy was a bit alarmed.

“You go on ahead, dear. I expect I’ll look in on you later. Right now I have some, um, business to attend to, down in Westcheap.”

In no time at all, Cindy found herself at the palace being handed down out of the coach onto a red carpet, her ratty Goons looking to right and left, each with a hand under his cloak gripping his sword handle in case of trouble. The palace lackeys were suitably impressed, and hurried forward to toady her in through the huge front doors. 

“Whom shall I announce, my Lady?” asked an obsequious doorman.

“Umm … Princess Sindri of Erewon.” Nobody, she was sure, would figure that one out. The name was passed, along with Cindy, to an official announcer at the top of a huge stairway, which led to the main ballroom. The man lifted a doubtful eyebrow, but after taking in the view of the beautiful masked girl in front of him, he smiled and turned to proclaim the Princess’s arrival to the crowd below. She took in a deep breath and then started down the marble stair to make her entrance.

Up until then the Prince had been bored mindless and, frankly, since the arrival of the ugly stepsisters he had been a little nauseous, as well. There weren’t actually many young ladies at the ball. Some girls from the city had come, like the stepsisters, out of curiosity, and they quickly whispered warnings of his affliction to a few uninformed young ladies from foreign parts. The Prince had spent most of the evening sitting alone, looking so bleak that only the king dared to intrude, at one point dragging some reluctant dukes over to talk about last night’s big game (the Tigers vs. the Hunters). But when the Prince heard the strange new Princess announced, and saw the beautiful girl sweep down the staircase, he was on his feet to greet her in an instant.

Cindy curtseyed – his mask was lettered ‘Prince Alan” in emeralds to prevent embarrassing incidents – and he bowed in turn and swept her straight out onto the dance floor. Luckily the conductor was alert, and the court orchestra struck up a lively waltz.

The Prince danced well, but Cindy couldn’t help noticing that his right trouser leg, although very loosely cut, stirred as though he had a large truncheon stuffed down his pants. Although this was, in fact, not unusual among a certain class in the city, it wasn’t to be expected of a prince, and she found herself blushing.

For her part, Cindy danced with some exuberance, unaware of the breeze on her bottom. The assembled guests knew they should be scandalized, but she was a Princess, and clearly she did not intend to make a lewd display – she danced with the innocent abandon of a child on a beach. And, there it was again – she was a Princess, so allowances would be made. 

There were a few exceptions, of course. An elderly general had a coughing fit and had to be wheeled into the library for a restorative brandy. And the ugly stepsisters, normally given to bickering, were agreed on this subject. 

“Tramp,” said one. 

“Slut,” said the other.

For lack of escorts, they were sitting with their mother and stepfather. Unlike the rest of the people in the room, Cindy’s father’s attention was focused on her top end. Something about the Princess’s joyous smile held him. It was so familiar … it was … could it be? It was as though a spell had been broken, which of course was the case. The shock of recognition struck him just as Hilda chose to concur with her daughters. “Whore,” she agreed.

“Shut up,” said Cindy’s father, without looking away from the dance floor. Hilda shivered. Something in the hard, flat delivery of those words suggested there were some serious problems ahead. Indeed, she should have read the fine print on the label of her vial of ‘Granny Abigail’s Love Potion Number Eight’, which she had purchased from the old woman in the pointy black hat.

The next dance was a little more sedate, and afterward the conductor decided to chance something even slower – knowing his career, if not his head, was in the balance. The Prince, however, was taking no chances. That this Princess was at the ball, at all, meant that she had heard nothing about him, and he was determined to make the most of her warm presence before she fled, like all the others. He danced very carefully so that while their shoulders touched, Cindy received only a few accidental brushes from the mass in his pants.

After that third dance, the Prince could take no more. He drew Cindy aside into the dimly lit corridor nearby. The conductor struck up another waltz to help everyone pretend they hadn’t noticed. 

Cindy was thrilled by the Prince’s attentions. He drew her down the hallway and into another room to sit on a softly cushioned chair. The both removed their masks, and, although the room was lit only by the moonlight, she was sure the Prince was even more handsome than he had appeared when she had once seen him with his Royal family on the State Balcony. He was full of amusing stories, plus he knew how to put his tongue in her ear just the way she liked. It reminded her how much she missed playing with her friends since her stepsisters had come. She tried to tug on the laces to his codpiece, but he managed to distract her with some excellent kisses. Soon they were locked in an embrace which can best be described as torrid, if a bit awkward, since the Prince was determined to keep her clear of his lumpy lap. 

For her part, she thought about the fairy’s story and was determined to check it out.  An odd struggle ensued, which was briefly resolved by the Prince pinning Cindy and hoisting her silken casing far enough to lick her pussy. His tongue swirled expertly along and around her moist pink folds, with special attention being given to her little clit. This was nearly her favourite game, and so she settled in to ride out a lovely orgasm. 

She recovered much more quickly than the Prince had expected, and darting forward she managed to tear loose his codpiece. His reaction surprised her.  He slumped back onto the chair, moaning, with his hands covering his face. The codpiece, as it turned out, was purely ornamental, in so far as it could never have contained what was now slithering out of his breeches. The thing emerged like a snake from the charmer’s basket, except the head was more python than cobra. It even had the slow, undulating motion of a powerful snake lifting to strike – and, like a snake, it seemed to follow her movements. 

As it continued to emerge, she was suddenly afraid – it was so huge. Had the fairy misled her? But an overwhelming rush of pure lust quickly overcame her fears. She perched on a nearby footstool and, reaching out, she took hold of the thing by its neck. It obediently dipped down and laid its foreskin-hooded head in her lap, even as more of its body reeled out into view. The Prince’s hands fell away from his face. “You’re still here,” he said in astonishment.

“Of course, silly,” was her answer, as she stroked the heavy cock head in her lap. Her caresses made it wriggle, and its foreskin soon drew back to reveal its fat snout. It was plum shaped, but bigger than a baseball. Silvery beads of pre-cum drooled from its slit. Cindy coolly smeared the slippery stuff around its nose, and then, with an inappropriately shy smile at Prince Al, she lifted it up, opened her knees wide, and set it between her juicy pussy lips. The Prince just sat in shock, but his trouser snake knew what to do – it butted up against Cindy’s crotch, pushing hard. She felt her pussy stretching, gradually but steadily, more and more, until suddenly the enormous knob surged inside her. She gasped as it entered - she knew she had been spread wider than should have been possible. Yet the feeling was marvellous. It felt even better when the thing started to slither deeper. She began to tremble with a fresh orgasm, and she felt her cunny muscles massage what must have been a foot worth of cock, stuffed deep in her belly. 

There was more to come. When her spasms subsided, Cindy looked down between her creamy thighs. A fat belly loop of cock was still suspended between her and the Prince, its knotted veins visible in the moonlight. She rose to her feet, and moved closer toward him, allowing the thing inside her to drive itself even deeper.  She could feel its head poking around, somewhere behind her belly button, and then she was in the grip of another round of orgasms. They were better than she had ever had, and yet she found she could control her limbs to take hold of the chair’s arms and climb up over the Prince. The trouser snake continued its explorations as she moved, and soon she could feel it enter her chest. ‘Thank you, Fairy Godmother,’ she thought, as she felt her cunny muscles rippling in waves along the entire length of it.

The Prince was now holding her around her stretched tummy. She suddenly realized they were both making a dreadful racket – gasping and moaning in a very indecorous way for a state ball – but they were not interrupted, and gradually she felt the Prince’s horse cock approach the base of her throat. God, but it felt wonderful. Orgasm after orgasm wracked her, continuously now, but she was still in control of herself as the thing slithered ever more of its fat bulk into her pussy hole and up inside. All the while, her bottom slowly dropped toward the Prince’s lap. 

She felt the thing’s head stretch her neck as it slid up her throat, and she was forced to tip her head way back to accept it. Her tiara bounced off into the darkness, and she panicked, very briefly, until she realized she could still somehow breathe through her nose. By that time it was creeping up over her tongue and pushing against the back of her teeth. She automatically opened her mouth and the cock head slid back out into the open, forcing her mouth to open impossibly widely as it came. Now she was being stretched as much above as below, but she still felt neither pain nor discomfort. Some eight inches of fat cock rose obscenely from her mouth to point at the ceiling, and then she felt her pussy bottom out against the princely pubis.

She knew the sight of a huge peggo emerging from her throat ought to be alarming, to some degree, but instead she found she had become quite fond of the thing. She decided she would name it Seth (although not out loud, of course).  She reached up with one hand to rub its slippery head, and it bumped back against her hand, nuzzling her like her kittens often did. ‘Hello Seth,’ she thought, and scratched it on a chin-ish sort of spot. Then she gave it a friendly squeeze, and heard the Prince groan. Her own groans were now rather muffled, but his were getting louder than ever. Owing to her head being forced back, Cindy couldn’t see the Prince’s face, so she rotated her whole body around her new pet to peek down at him. He was displaying a combination of shock and pleasure. ‘Good,’ she thought, and then she allowed herself to revel in her internal spasms, enjoying the sensation of Seth’s body throbbing inside her. To her delight, it was growing even thicker in girth, and simultaneously it was stiffening and straightening. This took some slack out of its middle, and forced several more pink inches to tower out of her mouth. 

In fact, Seth had become a rigid pole, and she no longer needed to hold on to the chair to keep her balance – she was being supported from inside as though by an iron bar. By bracing her feet under her, and straightening her knees, she found that she could slide herself up along it. She swallowed cock as she rose, until her mouth closed over its knob. She was standing now, more or less upright. The massive cockhead rested in her throat, just behind her tongue, so she was still forced to look up to where painted nymphs danced on the ceiling far up in the gloom. She smacked her lips, and thought, ‘Wow!’ Then, with a naughty smile, she let herself drop.

By alternately standing and crouching, she began to fuck the Prince properly. As she rode, Seth’s head continuously disappeared down her throat and then burst back up from her mouth, gleaming wetly; meanwhile its shaft did more or less the same thing, down between her straining thighs, only in reverse. She knew, because she held one hand at each end to stroke Seth’s slick skin as it came and went. Faster and faster she pumped, her whole body now a throbbing cunny, thrilling to the feel of the fat thing sliding, so very snugly, right through her. 

The Prince began to rave, tearing open his brocade jacket and silk shirt, together, the buttons rattling everywhere. He certainly seemed to be enjoying their game, and she knew she was. She wished the boys back home could see her now.  And then she realized that a part of her was still forming lucid thoughts, even through all the endless, fantastic orgasms. She could never manage that before, and the idea pleased her, though she was in no position to engage in pillow talk.

When at last the Prince began to cum, it started with a gurgle in his throat that warned of a thrusting drive of his hips, and then, as he pushed his body upward, it became a hard pulse that travelled up Seth’s long shaft, up through her belly and her chest and her throat and her mouth until it burst into the air in a fountain above her face. Spurt after spurt blasted up and then rained back down on to her. None ran down her throat – her lips were stretched to form a tight seal around the protruding cock. The bit of her that could still think decided that this moonlit geyser was a beautiful sight, even as her own total body orgasm - her biggest ever - began to careen up and down her magical cunny.

And then the clock began to strike midnight …

Outside the palace gates, a shiny black coach collapsed into a pumpkin, and a handful of mice skittered off for home with two kittens in hot pursuit. All else that remained, oddly, was a gaudy pile of clothing. Bertrand the Beggar happened to be working nearby, and found that one of the stylish warm jackets fit him admirably. As for the rat brothers, they had spent the evening cheating at dice, and had fleeced all the other drivers and footmen out of a considerable sum before sauntering off to look for more entertainment. Remarkably quickly, they had encountered a Lady of Negotiable Affection, whose specialty was rough love. When the clock tower had begun striking midnight they’d been engaged in an act involving the Lady being held horizontally in the air whilst entertaining a brother at each end. At the last stroke, there was a popping sound and a voice saying (appropriately), “Oh, bugger.”

She promptly found herself lying dazed on two pair of butter-soft leather boots. She missed the departure of several disgruntled vermin, because she was also covered by a heap of gear - satin and velvet clothing, belts and slings, silver decorated swords and daggers, plus several stout ebony truncheons. And, most importantly, gold – gold buttons, gold buckles, and gold-filled purses. She looked around for Tony, who was a Gentleman Who Protects and Lives off the Avails of Ladies of Negotiable Affection. He was nowhere to be seen, and while her clients had fucked like bunnies, she was almost sure she had seen scaly tails in the torchlight, and she had for some time been concerned that they might rob her, or hurt her (more than had been contractually agreed). While she was not surprised that they had stiffed her in the end, so to speak, she had not expected them to vanish quite so literally.

Muttering darkly about Tony, she surveyed the goods they had seemingly left behind in their haste, and began to pile the loot onto one of the ermine-fringed cloaks. Then she hefted one of the truncheons, savouring its lovely balance, and decided it was time to terminate her contract with Tony. With the proceeds from this lot she could set up as a Courtesan, or even open her own house. As she hurried into the night, she pictured the sign over the door - ‘Glenna’s House of Discipline’.

As for Cindy, when the last chime echoed around the empty room, she felt her lovely dress fade away to nothing under the Prince’s questing hands. She began to struggle, hopelessly trying to free herself, and then she realized that nothing else had happened. Her ragged old dress hadn’t come back, and so probably neither had the dirt, and she knew that Seth was still hard, so nothing else really mattered. She started to fuck the Prince’s cum-soaked pole some more – stand, crouch, stand, crouch - until she started to tire. But then, the Prince helped her out.  He shifted his grip back to her middle, taking her weight in his powerful arms, and began to slide her up and down. Thankful for the rest, Cindy opened her legs wide. Her heels bounced on the padded arms of the chair, until one of her slippers flew off, and so she folded her knees up to keep her feet clear. 

The Prince seemed to take this as a signal, ramming her bottom down hard into his lap.  As he became more and more excited, he started to twist her around Seth, as though he was trying to screw her into place. That gave her a whole new variety of lovely sensations, although her view was still mostly up. After several full rotations, the Prince began to tremble. Inside, she felt the now familiar pulses as he came again. As his first load was coursing up through her, she reached up over her head and wrapped her hands around Seth’s fat bulk - just in time to feel the surge pass under her palms. Again, the glorious flood shot high in the air above her, and gracefully arced back to splash hotly on her skin. And again her body answered, clenching Seth tightly inside as a huge orgasm rocked her.  Even in the midst of this latest passion, she could feel the warm rivulets of spunk as they trickled down her bare breasts and belly, and were funnelled over her burning clit.

Luckily, after that Seth softened enough for her to tip forward. She lay in the Prince’s arms, too tired to continue. Seth nuzzled her cheek as she dozed, and then shrank back down her throat the way it had come. As soon as she was able, Cindy dropped her head back down, tucking it against the Prince’s shoulder. 

Before she nodded off, she tried to imagine how things would have gone if the Prince had danced with someone else. But would anyone else have been brave enough to try out the royal third leg?

Well … possibly one of her stepsisters. Briefly, she considered them. The poor dears weren’t completely without merit. They – and their mother - might make passable scullery maids. Or, perhaps there was a brothel in the city that specialized in whips and bondage, that sort of thing. That would be nice.

She loved a happy ending.

The Second Part

The story continued, and now adding a Fire Breathing Dragon, some Mercenaries and Blacksmiths, an Erotic Fountain, and another Member of Unusual Size.

Cindy woke the next morning to find herself curled up, still naked, on Prince Al’s bare lap. He in turn was sitting on a plush and sticky royal throne. She looked into his sleeping face. He wore a dreamy smile, and in the daylight he was just as handsome as she had expected.

She felt the Prince’s royal yard stir, high inside her belly. Seth was waking. Thanks to Shirley, her Fairy Godmother, she and the Prince were well suited for each other. She tried an experimental cunny squeeze, by way of saying good morning. The Prince blinked awake, and Seth responded immediately. It trembled like a puppy’s tail wagging inside of her, and began to stretch and grow again. By concentrating, she found she could squeeze and knead it all along its considerable length, which it obviously liked. It was already working its way up into her chest, and she just had time to work the kinks out of her neck before it was sliding back up her throat.

‘Here we go again’, she thought, and smiled happily just before Seth burst back out from between her ruby lips. With her head now forced back, her gaze was drawn up to a sudden swirl of fairy dust sparkling brightly in the sunlight high over her head. She waved up at it. It seemed to shimmer in response.

“Thank you, Fairy Godmother,” she said, although of course it came out as, “Mm-uu mm-m om-muu.”

She twisted around on Seth to wink at her goggling Prince. Deciding it was time to talk, she skittered her feet back to plant them on the slightly crusty seat cushion. Taking hold of the length of iron-hard cock that protruded from her mouth, she straightened her legs and lifted her body up Seth’s shaft. Gracious, but that felt good. Just as before, the rigid shaft supported her weight.

When she was fully standing, she found she could close her lips back around Seth’s cockhead. That was better, but it was still high up in her throat, and so, putting her arms out to her sides like a tightrope walker, she carefully stepped up onto the arms of the throne. As she lifted herself, she felt the cock easing back into her chest.

Then, looking carefully down between her pert breasts (having a rod up your insides enforces excellent posture), she flashed a radiant smile at the Prince and said,  “Good morning!”

“Ahhh … Good morning.” The Prince, who perhaps thought the previous evening was all a dream, was now looking up at a black-curled, honey-coloured beauty. This frisky little thing was, thanks to magically gifted plumbing, somehow decorating the top two feet or so of his huge, cursed cock. Her legs were set wide, and she seemed almost to be levitating over him. She was so well braced internally by his pole that she had one hand free to twiddle one of her perky hard nipples, and the other to do the same to what showed of her clit (which was mostly mashed between her mound and his thick shaft). “Will you marry me?” he blurted out.

“Sure!” Her smile expanded to a joyous grin, and then she stepped off her perch on the throne to drop onto her lover’s lap.

At some point during that long sweaty morning, Cindy confessed that she was not really Princess Sindri of Erewon. Prince Al told her not to worry – he explained that that was how most royal families got their start, although admittedly they usually had an army of followers to back their claim. He pointed out that Cindy had him, and when they were married, it wouldn’t make any difference.

She also told him about her Fairy Godmother, who of course must be invited to the wedding. Even as they fucked, Cindy wondered what kind of wedding dress to wear, and whether the Fairy would make it for her.

All the while, they were left strictly alone in the throne room, on orders from the King - in the interest of fostering any chance for success in his son’s amours. A guard had been posted at the door, so no one was strictly sure what was going on in there – excepting the guard himself, who took a quick peek and then resolved never again to drink before going on duty.

It wasn’t until early afternoon that the hungry and dishevelled pair emerged. Cindy’s sexy gown had disappeared at the last stroke of midnight, so she was wearing the Prince’s brocade jacket. Now buttonless and stained, it just managed to cover her pretty ass. His silk shirt was open, being likewise free of buttons, and Cindy kept sneaking glances of his manly chest. It was like a vision out of one of those illuminated romance manuscripts she liked to read (and which the monk scribes found both profitable and enjoyable to produce). The palace staff performed the tricky manoeuvre of acknowledging their presence politely, while at the same time affecting not to notice them.

The news of the engagement thrilled the King and Queen, who were beginning to seriously worry about marrying off their son – hence the previous night’s Costume Ball. As a child, Prince Al had been betrothed to his cousin, Princess Alfina of Anthrax. There was a lot of this sort of inbreeding among royalty in those days. (It is rumoured that the greatest banjo player the world has ever known was a Hapsburg prince, who was quietly sent to live in a marsh in Rumania.) Fortunately for the royal bloodlines, the women were as randy as the men, although generally more discrete.  King Charming was unaware that he owed his red hair to a fling his mother had had with the town’s blacksmith – a Scottish giant who moved south for his health around the time of the future king’s birth. As for Princess Alfina, news of Al’s run in with the witch and subsequent affliction had inspired the poor thing to join a nunnery.

As an engagement gift, the King had Cindy’s wicked stepsisters and stepmother arrested and sent in chains to a house of correction. Due to a clerical error (assisted by Shirley), the trio were sent to a newly opened establishment called Glenna’s House of Discipline. The results were satisfactory for all concerned. The mother and her two ugly daughters became Glenna’s biggest draw. A fair-minded Madame, Glenna ensured they shared in the profits. So the three were rehabilitated, after a fashion, becoming consummate professionals who re-invested all their income into their growing collection of leatherwear, and the whips, fetters and branding irons of their new trade.

Cindy and her Prince spent the days before their wedding getting to know one another further, which included a great deal of time in his apartments and in the palace’s rooftop pleasure garden (another regal perk) exploring positions. He would plunge his cock inside her, in and out, deeper and deeper and deeper, as they wrestled about, sometimes her on top and sometimes him, until she would cry out her delight. Life was rather good.

One of her favourites (for example) was essentially a soixante-neuf. It was necessary that the Prince start out fairly soft – ice was sometimes called for. She then sat upright on his face and, while he nuzzled her nethers, she licked the tip of his prodigious pecker. After this warm up, she then stretched her lips over it and proceeded to perform an exceedingly deep throat on him. Eventually, Seth would work his intrepid way all the way through Cindy’s magically enhanced cunt until Al found himself slurping on more than just Cindy.

At this point, he would usually stiffen up completely, lifting Cindy upside down, her blood rushing to her head. She’d slide right down until her nose was against his balls, and then she’d begin to perform press-ups with her hands. He would hold her hips to help, and between them they’d keep up the slithery friction. As the orgasms took her, she’d alternately wave her legs, flexing her pretty toes, and then hang limp while she recovered her strength. And when he came, well, she found those final surges of his transiting sperm to be just as exciting coming as going.

In this way (and in ways similar), they spent an interesting and inventive several weeks. But, before their marriage could take place, a crisis came along. A dragon moved into an abandoned castle in the middle of the Wildwood. The townspeople were all in an uproar about the monster they said preyed on virgins (although had the creature been so fussy as that, he would have had to mostly do without). A mob had even ransacked the Department of Public Works and Recreation, whose director had promised to pull down the old castle some years back.

And then the dragon had struck again, inside the very castle walls. Now the townsfolk were gathered in the square in front of the palace gates, focusing their frustration on Cindy’s future father-in-law. She and the Prince sat in the palace rec room, drinking some beers by the ping-pong table and watching the King brood.

King Charming XXII (known as Charming the Fairly Good) was gazing gloomily out the window at the crowd – country peasants with pitchforks, shopkeepers, and even that huge African blacksmith he knew the Queen liked to roger whenever she got the chance. Charming knew they all blamed him. He felt this to be somewhat unfair, since he had followed the book to the letter. He had been reasonably prompt in ordering out his best mercenaries – thirty crack tactical assault knights - but then contact had been lost. They had failed, and today the monster had stolen and presumably eaten the Bishop’s favourite mistress, Trixie. The chamberlain’s daughter, she was a sweet little blonde, always up for a romp.

Hearing them go at it, it had always amazed the King that she never got pregnant. In his own youth, he had knocked up half the staff, and had ended up paying all his allowance on pregnancy leave bonuses. He smiled. It was a long tradition. The tax rolls and the troop lists included a good number of honest, bastard citizens named Mr. Prince and Mr. King. (Of course, here as in most places, the most common name was Smith – think about it.)

King Charming gave his head a shake, chasing away the happy reveries and returning to his grim worries. It was too late for Trixie - she was now dragon food. At any rate, the virgin theory about the diet of dragons could be put to bed, so to speak. But now his son was riding into terrible danger, for the next morning he would lead the entire army out to the Wildwood, to lay siege to the Dragon.

Prince Al was keen to go. He was in a rage – Trixie had been a good friend. After the witch had cursed him, she had been the only girl (before Cindy) who hadn’t run away from the sight of his fearsome wang. True, she hadn’t let him put it in her, either, but she had expressed both sympathy and appreciation, and had sometimes even fondled it for him.

Cindy, for her part, had complete confidence in her valiant prince. The morning of the expedition to the Wildwood, she sent her hero off (slightly late) with a bone-rattling quickie.  Once the army had marched away, flags flying, to wreak vengeance on the monster, she slipped up to the palace’s empty rooftop garden for a skinny dip in her favourite fountain, the one that sent a shower of water straight up from the mouth of a naked river maiden. She could relate.

The fountain was great fun. It had a lovely deep pool, plus there were climbable stone dolphins and frogs and serpents. It also was equipped with complicated inner workings that send random spurts of water at passers by – royals enjoy low humour as much as anyone. And, sitting at the feet of the busty marble maiden that stood spouting at the centre, was an anatomically correct faun. Not a Bambi, but one of those randy man-goat fellows, who in those days could still sometimes be glimpsed chasing nymphs across forest glades.

Cindy splashed about, and then climbed up to stand astride the faun’s lap. She rubbed her itching privates against the stone knob, just as she once had done with her bedpost. The difference was that now she could ease herself over and, with just a wriggle and a twist, down onto the foot-and-a-half tall phallus.  In Prince Al’s temporary absence, she was then able to satisfy her ever-simmering lusts by squirming on the cool marble shaft inside her. Sitting there, dibbling her toes in the warm water, she also got an occasional extra thrill when it was her stone lover’s turn to spurt his surprise burst of water.

After a bracing swim and a fuck ‘n’ flush, she danced naked through the garden among the shrubs and flowers, drying herself in the warm breeze. She was as happy as she could remember - until she swirled around a hedge and abruptly found herself staring at a ten-foot dragon’s cock.

That is to say, the dragon was ten foot tall. And if you do not think this particularly impressive, I should add that he was twenty feet long, nose to tail, and twenty feet across from wingtip to leathery wingtip. Think flying, fire breathing Velociraptor. Except, perhaps a bit more slyly mannish around the eyes, and with more or less human (if scaly) arms and hands. Oh, and an enormous, emerald green cock.

Cindy had never seen the apparatus of a lizard, but this particular one looked a lot like Prince Al’s. It was at least as big as his, and similar in shape, if not in colour. Of course it also lacked Al’s curly bush, and up close she could see that, like the rest of the dragon, it was covered with scales - tiny ones that made it look just like the fat snakes she’d played with in her garden as a girl (don’t ask). It stood in all its green glory straight up in front of its owner, swaying in way that was somewhat mesmerizing. She found herself staring at it, in spite of the wings and tail and pointy bits that should have had an equal claim for her attention.

The dragon took a step towards Cindy, and then another. She stepped back as he advanced. He hoped he hadn’t accidentally stumbled on some foolish virgin. She may not be a lady dragon – he hadn’t the luck to find one of those in far too many years – but for a human, she definitely had what he was looking for - young, with wide hips.

As Cindy retreated, she kept her eyes on the thing’s cock, and so failed to see him reach forward and … chuck her chin. 

“Hey!” Cindy was surprised not so much by his touch as by how warm it had been.

“What?” The dragon snatched his hand back. That was not the reaction he was used to.

“Only – what do you think you’re up to?” She looked down meaningfully at his cock.

“I’m terribly sorry, but I can’t hide my feelings,” said the dragon.  He used his silkiest voice, trying to regain the upper hand. This was not playing out in the usual way. Usually there was a lot of screaming at this point. Of course, he always had his way in the end (dragons, as you know, have silver-tongued voices that can hypnotize the unwary), but he was clearly off his form. Usually, after the screaming bit came rather boring conversations along the lines of: ‘Now you will spread your nubile thighs,’ - ‘Yes - now I will spread my nubile thighs.’

Cindy didn’t realize that she wasn’t playing by the dragon’s rules, but she was aware that she was in big trouble. Even so, that green cock looked terribly interesting – sort of a challenge to her abilities. And she knew that she had a Fairy Godmother looking after her.

Unfortunately for her, Shirley was at that very moment down at the Boar's Little Head tavern and very definitely off-duty. To be precise, the Fairy was happily in the middle of a most satisfactory rogering, lying under Sir John Fullstaff’s hefty bulk in the curtained off space which Mistress Speedy provided her regulars.

 The dragon started over. “Now you will spread …” He trailed off. The way she was squinting at him, he somehow knew she wouldn’t. At least, not just like that, although he could sense that she was interested. “I’m Frank,” he said. A simple introduction seemed in order – elaborate pick-up lines weren’t really in his field of experience.

“Cindy. Princess Cindy,” she said, prematurely promoting herself again. She offered him her hand, as though she was addressing a formal guest at a state ball, rather than a randy dragon, whilst standing fetchingly nude in the morning sun, decorated with just a few lingering beads of water from her swim, which sparkled like gems on the curve of her luscious breasts and caressed the inner softness of her lithe legs …

The dragon, who felt he was definitely loosing focus, politely shook her hand while he tried to think of something intelligent to say. “I can fly, you know,” he ventured, an unnecessary observation considering their rooftop location and his huge leathery wings, which he flexed for emphasis.

 “That’s nice,” she agreed, her eyes again on his green equipment. The slit of his peggo was wide and went across rather than up and down. It looked distinctly like a mouth - she half expected to see a forked tongue flicker out. She absently licked a finger, and felt a small trickle of her pussy juices slide down the inside of her left thigh.

This was slightly embarrassing. She would really, really like to sample what he was so prominently offering, but it seemed somehow wrong to fuck a monster who had eaten her new friend, and was at that very moment being hunted by her fiancé – fuck it on the roof of their home, no less.

“So, Frankie, maybe we should go someplace more private.” She caressed one of her lovely breasts to clarify her intent, in the remote case that this would be necessary.

The dragon felt that things were somehow coming back on track. She may not be in the thrall of his voice, but she was obviously willing. Since there was clearly nowhere in the city more private than where they were at that very moment, he reached out and carefully lifted Cindy up until her pussy was just touching the top of his stiff green cock.

Usually this phase was only reached after he and his prey had reached his lair, and the maiden was hoarse from yelling. He would press the dome of his knob-end against her soft labial folds, sliding and rubbing it as he was doing now, until he – and occasionally she – gained some satisfaction. His come would then spurt, with remarkable pressure, past the pussy lips of his new conquest. Thus it was with some amazement that he felt Cindy’s seemingly tight cunnie somehow stretch to engulf his entire cockhead.

Cindy wasn’t aware of the dragon’s long search for fulfillment, but she recognized the look on his face as gravity slowly drew her down onto the beast’s pole. It was the same stunned expression that had come over the Prince. After she had taken the first green foot or so, she had to twist and wriggle her bottom to continue her slide. Her elastic pussy lips were by then stretched so wide that his cock’s scaly surface was tickling her thighs. Still she dropped, as its head eased pleasantly up into her chest. She felt the heat of it inside her, too. It was definitely not like a garden snake in that respect (no, really – don’t ask).

She wondered - if the Prince’s cock was now named Seth, what should she call this one? Somehow she felt she should be properly introduced. She caught hold of his shoulders to stop her plunge, and asked, “Does it have a name?” Her voice was almost a whisper – it was becoming hard, with all that throbbing meat up inside her, to take deep breaths.

“What?” He must have heard the words, but apparently he was so preoccupied that their meaning had escaped him.

“Your thingy – what do you call it?”

As a matter of fact, he did have a name for it. “Eric,” he said hesitantly.

She could tell this was not something he let get around. “Eric,” she repeated. “Pleased to meet you both.” She let go of his shoulders and immediately dropped another half foot or so - very nice. Erik was at the base of her throat now. It was time to tip her head back and straighten her neck. She smiled and thought of the erotic fountain behind her. Another minute and the thing was sliding up her throat and filling her mouth. She opened wide at its insistent pressure and watched in delight as Eric emerged to tower above her.

It was her turn for a surprise, now. She reached up to fondle Eric, and swiftly discovered that its scales had now lifted slightly. The result was that she could slide her hands down its emerald skin, but not up. With some alarm, it occurred to her that the same thing would apply to a cunnie, which in her case was basically her entire body. She bottomed out just as she realized she was trapped - completely, if delightfully, impaled on the cock of a dragon.

A very aroused dragon, as it turned out. With a roar, he flapped his great wings and began to run, launching himself right off the nearest parapet. They plunged alarmingly toward the cobbles below, until the dragon recovered his balance and levelled out to swoop across the square. He let loose a burst of flame over the top of Cindy’s head, and she had a glimpse of figures running from a blazing souvenir stand, before they shot back up into the sky.

Suddenly she was looking down on a fairy tale castle, all turrets and flags, far below. The dragon held her lightly in his arms, but she knew that she was locked so tightly onto the scaly cock running through her that she couldn’t fall, whether he held her or not. Although there was none of the old in-and-out that she was so fond of, Erik the monster cock pulsed and throbbed with life. At the same time she was getting a head rush as the dragon twisted and looped through the air. The world whirled just like it had when, as a little girl, she would lay belly-down on her swing, wind the ropes tight and then let them spin back out. She was ecstatic and dizzy all at once, and suddenly she was coming, big time.

Not many people get to experience full-out dragon sex.

Frank went through his aerobatics high over the city, culminating in a wild charge straight up. Just when Cindy thought they must be well on their way to the moon, she felt the surge as his cum shot up the fat scaly pipe inside her. He stopped his upward rush just as he came, and she watched the silver stream of dragon semen hang magically above her. Then followed the lurch in her tummy. It wasn’t just Eric in there, but also something else, a feeling in the pit of her stomach. The dragon had folded in his wings and they were falling, a wild, fornicating, flaming meteor.

She was coming still, regardless, her hands gripping his beastly biceps not from fear but for leverage. She may not be able to hump him, but she could twist on him. Her entire cunnie, from bottom to top, was milking Eric for more. Both her sets of lips were convulsively clamping on the thick green stalk around which they were wrapped.

Finally the dragon flung out his wings, going from freefall to glide at what was obviously the last possible moment. They blasted into a leafy treetop at the edge of forest and reappeared in a burst of leaves and smoking twigs.

Feeling better than he had for a long time, the dragon began to fly with his new prize toward his lair. Cindy continued to experience aftershocks, especially when they did a barrel roll. She barely registered the tight packed columns of men and horses when they shot over the army. They looked like ants, far below.

When they landed in the courtyard of the ruined castle, Frank stowed his wings and then lifted Cindy easily up off his slightly softened cock to set her on her feet. It was as though she had never been stuck. He led the still shaky girl up a staircase to the door of the inner keep.

Inside, a small passage led through to an enormous central hall. Although Cindy knew he hadn’t been living here long, an impressive, if somewhat random, pile of loot sat in the middle of the room. There were scattered gold and silver coins, and jewels, but also gilt picture frames and end tables, pewter dishes, tangled cut glass chandeliers, even bits of tin foil. Dragons are fond of shiny things.

She rubbed her stiff neck and glared at him. “And what happens now? You gonna eat me?” Her bare young breasts bounced with indignation.

“Eat you?  What makes you think…?”

“Your big teeth, for one thing. And all those bones in front of this place. Al says dragons are like wolves amongst the flock.”

“Those happen to be soup bones – for appearances sake. I happen to like young women. And not to eat,” he added hastily, as her eyes widened. He tried again. “Can I offer you some wine, Miss…?”

“Princess Cindy,” she reminded him. Typical male – he had already forgotten her name. “Yes, please.”

“Oh. Right.”  Where had he seen the stuff? He stumped over to his trove of loot.

While Frank poked through oddments of swag, looking for a bottle and some glasses, Cindy remembered the reason she was meant to be getting it on with the beast. She was a spy. It was time to act like one. She glanced around the room for clues. “We should get to know one another better.  Where did you live before? And what’s happened to the other girls you stole away?”

Two very good questions. The dragon was reluctant to answer either of them. His last home had been in a mountain, where he had accumulated a proper dragon’s horde and a harem of over one hundred maidens. The latter, he now realized, had been folly. The place had been a noisy pandemonium of women, who, for want of servants, had to cook and clean for themselves, in addition to laying leathery dragon eggs, and hatching them and caring for all the little dragonlings.

At first, they’d been content enough with their lot, but eventually the pecking order seemed to be maintained by bickering. And his treasure began to go out far faster than he could steal it. Cartloads of provisions rolled up to the loading bays behind the mountain – silks and furnishings, venison and chocolates. The sheer bedlam of it all had caused him to slip out one night with a small fraction of his treasure, to start over.

So here he was. And then, just a week ago a band of mercenaries had come to his gate. He had told them of a mountain filled with gold and women, and let them know that if they marched swiftly, it could all be theirs. And good luck to the lot of them, he thought.

As to his new maidens, well, he had planned to keep it down, this time, but one thing leads to another, and so this Princess was the fourth. Somehow, he didn’t think she would react favourably to learning that there were three scantily clad young women eating bonbons in the room above.

He snorted, a small puff of smoke drifting away. What did he care what she thought? Except – this was the first human who had taken Eric to the hilt (although admittedly a good foot worth had stuck out the other end of her). This was the first time he had performed the full mating ritual in at least forty years – lady dragons were definitely scarce. He found himself hoping this Princess had liked it.

“I lived at the base of a mountain, far from here. Recently I decided it was time to see the world,” he said, his suave voice nearly making it sound reasonable.

Cindy was unimpressed. Her dear, departed mother had warned her of the seven-year-itch. “And the other girls?”

“They are all quite well. You will meet them soon. But I must tell you that none of them are as – delightful as you.” He poured what was probably wine from a dusty bottle into two shiny mugs.

You mean, you don’t think they’re as good to fuck, thought Cindy. She was perfectly aware of the problems Prince Al had experienced in that department. Still, no doubt he meant it well. She accepted a mug and took a swig. It was good stuff. The dragon sipped from his own cup, but seemed disinclined to say anything more.

What else could she learn? There must be more useful information to be gotten from the beast, but how? Perhaps, she thought, glancing down at the scaly limp cock that now hung nearly to the floor, perhaps another dose of lovin’ will loosen his tongue.

For Prince and country, then, she sidled over to a battered old banquet table that stood nearby. It must have been left behind by the previous residents, but in its centre stood a shiny candlestick. Setting her wine mug down, she leaned down until her chest and chin were stretched flat on the table and pretended to carefully examine the candle-less candlestick from up close and underneath. “How interesting,” she lied.

From Frank’s point of view, it was her ass that was interesting. He took the bait and stepped closer. She peeked back over her shoulder and wiggled her bum, but this extra signal was unnecessary – with a roar, Frank strode forward, his mighty cock now revived and leading the way.

Cindy felt its knob dock with her hungry (she had to admit that much) pussy. Her thighs were pinned against the edge of the table, and his advance slowed only slightly as she stretched to accommodate him. Then he was driving onward, right through her, and she felt his scaly cock slide along over her tongue until his dragon hips were pressed tight to her bum. She had a glimpse of the candlestick toppling - his cockhead must have hit it square on.

To her pleasant surprise, this time she wasn’t locked in place by cock-scales. Evidently it was something that could be controlled by the Dragon, because now he was pumping Eric in and out of her. It wasn’t flying, but it was just as good.

Meanwhile, upstairs, the dragon’s new harem listened to his lustful bellows, and his apparent victim’s muffled squeals, coming from below. His first two catches, a shop girl and a tavern barmaid, were both sitting on piles of cushions, wearing only the night-dresses they had been taken in, and mumbling together, “I will wait here until my master returns”. The effectiveness of the dragon’s voice always wore off after a few weeks, but these two were still in his power. Trixie, however, didn’t provide a lot of foothold for mind control. While it is unfair to suggest that blonds are dumb, this particular one had taken the fall for three or four of her sisters.

She found herself drawn to the noisy action, and shivering in her scanty slip, she started down the stone staircase. Just as she had accepted Prince Al (up to a point), she was equally unfazed by the sight of a young woman and the over-sized Dragon going at it. She came right up along side and sat on the edge of the table, the better to observe the unusual action. At that range, she recognized Cindy (despite the odd angle), and gave her a cheerful good afternoon, as though she was meeting her in a hallway, back in the palace. Cindy, who was coming like gangbusters, still managed to acknowledge her friend with a wave, which was meant to convey, ‘Hey – how’s it going with you?’

Outside, at the edge of the open field in front of the old castle, the vanguard of the army stopped up short and stared at all the bones. Prince Al swept out his arms to call a halt, thereby making it his idea. He glared at the lowered drawbridge and the open gate. The arrogant bastard, he thought, as he stepped forward. His two cousins the Dukes, followed gloomily in his wake. They thought only of the mass of bones that doubtlessly added up to thirty assault knights and several maidens. Still, this was an age when leaders, by definition, went ahead of their men, so they went forward with their Prince.

The three found themselves in an abandoned courtyard. All of them knew the place well, having explored it as children. They crossed the open yard to their right, went through another gate, and then up an exposed flight of steep stairs to an equally vulnerable platform in front of the door of the keep. The place was designed to be defended by a few men against an army, but there was only the one dragon, who rather significantly couldn’t be bothered even to close his doors.

It was Trixie who heard the clatter of their armour as they tried to sneak inside. “Knights coming,” she hissed.

Oddly enough, Cindy understood this cryptic warning. With remarkable presence of mind, she lifted her legs up to the horizontal, on either side of the dragon’s hips. Where previously his thrusts had pinned her against the edge of the table, she now slid on her belly across the dusty top. She caught hold of the far edge, and with his backstroke the dragon unplugged himself completely. He snarled, but Cindy skittered dexterously over the table, and when Prince Al and his two companions burst into the hall, she was already wrapped in a length of gold brocade curtain.

The men stopped short, swords held ready, and there was a momentarily silent tableau of frozen knights confronting wild-eyed dragon, who seemed to be caught in the act of menacing scantily clad maidens with his rampant cock.

Cindy knew that while she and Trixie had not been in fear of their lives, her Prince was. Frank looked pissed. His nostrils twitched, and there was a very faint pop sound inside his head, like a pilot light coming on somewhere. “I wish,” she started.

Immediately there was a crackling blue light between dragon and knights, and both parties were surprised to see that it was not fire. The blue light shimmered and congealed until it resolved itself into a short dumpy woman in a sparkly dress.

“Shirley,” said Cindy and Trixie and the prince and his cousins, all at once. They gave one another odd looks. The girls had been unaware they were sharing a Fairy Godmother. And while the Prince had been told about such a magical being, he never dreamt that Cindy was talking about this Shirley, the rowdy but seemingly ordinary old girl whom he and his cousins knew well, owing to the long hours they’d misspent together down at the Boar's Little Head.

It was roughly at this point that the guys finally realized that the maidens were none other than an uneaten Trixie and, even more confusingly, Cindy, who had only just seen them off from the castle gate.

“About time somebody made a wish,” said Shirley to the girls. “I was about to give up on you both.” Her rumpled look and sated smugness suggested she didn’t actually regret having been uninterrupted during her day at the Boar, but now she was all business.

Still ignoring the befuddled males, she addressed Cindy first. “You should know better than to get yourself caught by Frank,” she said. Then, to Trixie, “And you! It’s only been a few days since I checked in on you. I suppose you know you’re already pregnant?” The girl gave her a blank look. “Knocked up,” she clarified. “In the family way – or whatever it is when you’re gonna lay an egg.”

Trixie’s face fell and, still looking baffled, she snuffled a little.

Shirley felt badly for scolding her. After all, the Fairy Godmother trade depended on clueless innocents. “There, there, Ducks. It will all turn out fine.” By then, the armed men and their monstrous foe were beginning to glare at one another and puff themselves up. “You boys can just knock that crap off,” she snarled.

They obeyed instantly.

Looking around, Shirley sized up the entire truculent crowd. “Right. Al! Yes, you. Your beloved is over there. I suggest you sweep her into your arms. You two!” – this to the Dukes – “There’ s brace of bodacious maidens upstairs, looking to be rescued. Move it!” the Dukes hustled thankfully out of the hall. “Trixie.” She pondered for a moment. “How do you feel about being a dragon?”

“Well, the thing with the Bishop doesn’t seem to have much of a future … and I sure liked the flying …” Then the enormity of her Fairy Godmother’s question sank in. “Ewww, gross! I’d be all scaly, and stuff.”

Shirley just shook her head and unsheathed a small stick from her belt. “I don’t suppose anybody has ever seen a lady dragon in these parts,” she said, as though it was somehow their fault. As she spoke she snapped her wand at Trixie, who was immediately obscured by a flash and then smoke.

As the haze slowly drifted away everyone stared at a transformed Trixie. “What?” the girl asked.

What, indeed. She had grown, so much so that her shift was now nothing but a few tattered shreds that hid nothing. She was as beautiful as ever, but now stood easily nine feet tall. She had become an Amazon. That part was rather minor, however. What drew the eye were her wings – huge, gossamer-thin bat like wings, the colour of her rosy nipples. Looking at them, you might almost miss her long, and slightly obscene looking, fleshy-pink tail, which would no doubt give her stability in flight.

Frank missed none of it. His cock strained back to full staff. He had long since lost hope of finding a real mate; and now, here she was.

“Why did everyone shrink?” Trixie was alarmed by the odd reactions of her friends. Cindy and the Prince were gaping, Shirley was grinning, and then there was Frank, who was literally drooling. All of them seemed unaware of their diminished statures.

It was Frank who took the matter in hand. In two steps, he caught the new love of his life by the hips and hoisted her up over his great green wang. Trixie had just enough time to gasp, “Oh my …” and then, “GOD!” as she was impaled to the hilt. “Cindy! Oh! He’s in me!”

And none of him is sticking back out, either, thought Cindy. And she still hasn’t noticed her wings.

She soon would, though. The dragon had folded his own wings around Trixie and was bounding straight for the doorway. The blond gasped out another “Oh, my!” and added a polite cough that launched a smallish fireball back over the beast’s shoulder. “OH! Was that me?”

Cindy followed them at a safe distance, with her Prince and Shirley close behind her. By the time she reached the landing, the dragon couple were gaining altitude rapidly. Both sets of wings were beating the air for traction as, locked together, the lovers spun skywards. Cindy watched, just a tiny bit wistful, until the pink and green shape disappeared into the clouds. The Prince, too, continued to gaze up at the empty sky, a puzzled look on his handsome face. Shirley spoke to their backs. “I don’t think you’ll loose any more virgins, Al. I gotta go now. Watching this dragon courting thingamy always makes me too hot. See you all at the weddings.”

Cindy caught the plural, and turned to see her smiling Fairy Godmother wink, just before she vanished. Sure, she thought. A double wedding. Why not?

“Al, honey – do we have time to play a little before we go?”

The Third Part

The Next Generation, with more Fire Breathing, another Blacksmith, the same Erotic Fountain, some Rude Confectioneries, Hot Tail, and yet another Member of Unusual Size.

I’ve found out some weird stuff lately, and I’ve heard that sometimes writing things down, just for yourself, will help you sort it all out. So, here goes. My name is Karen, and I’m a Princess. THE princess, actually, owing to I don’t have any sisters, or brothers either. Mama and Papa are Queen Cindy and King Allen the Third of Guilder, if you please. As it turns out, Papa’s parents are still Queen and King, too, but they retired to a villa down south years ago. I told Papa that if there was two Queens of Guilder, there could just as easily be three, but he wasn’t having that. Oh, well. 

On the other hand, when I came of age last year I was formally invested as ‘Crown Princess’. I have it spelled out in rhinestones on the back of a purple satin cape, which I sometimes wear to the market or the gym, although people give me funny looks when I do.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. My relations on Papa’s side are mostly all royalty, in one kingdom or another – everybody is their own cousin, practically, so it’s hard to keep track. They tend to speak vewy pwecisely with a face like there was a bad smell nearby, and they’re generally dumber than dogs. Luckily, Mama and Papa aren’t like that, or Grandfather Charming and Grandmamma Audrey, either.

Gramps, that’s Mama’s father, is retired too, but he lives in the castle here with us. He’s not a royal, at all, and he’s very nice. Mama’s also got an ex-stepmother, and some stepsisters, somewhere. I gather they’re not so nice. Gramps says they’ve gone into some sort of profession. Plus there’s my godmother Shirley, who comes around once in a while and still pinches my cheeks, which I found embarrassing, considering my age, until I noticed she does it to Mama, too.

Then there’s Uncle Frank and Auntie Trixie – well, they’re not really related, being as how they’re both dragons. How cool is that? They don’t visit us, owing to apparently they used to keep setting the tapestries on fire, but Mama and Papa still go to see them all the time. Something about swapping stuff, Mama told me. I haven’t ever got invited along, probably on account of dragons don’t wear clothes, although Papa always claims it’s to get a break from demanding princesses.

Which brings us back to ME. Last week, Mama told me that I was now the same age as she was when she married Papa, and did I ever think of getting married? I said I didn’t, much, and she didn’t seem to mind. I think what she really wanted was to tell me about sex (better late than never), but she was too shy to bring it up. Which is funny, because when she and Papa get going, you can hear it all over the palace. I almost told her about how I’ve been getting laid for a while, now, and I like it just fine, thank you - but I didn’t want to embarrass her.

I figured that was the end of that, but yesterday she sent me down to the stables on some silly errand. Tony, he’s Mama’s groom, was there. I barely recognized him – he’d had a bath and was dressed in a fresh linen shirt. When he’s cleaned up, he’s pretty good looking and I know he’s fun in the sack - I’ve heard Mama playing with him a few times.

He says to me, “How is my wee foal?” I forgot to say that I’m not very tall – only about four-foot-six - and I’m not sure where he was going with that foal thing, but his breeches were straining to hold in his stiffy, so I knew he wanted to get under my skirts.

One thing led to another, and we had a great afternoon together. I could have kept going ‘till dinnertime, but poor Tony got tuckered out. He splashed his head in the water trough and then he told me he was awful sorry to run off, but he’d just remembered an errand of his own; and then he staggered away. Afterward, though, while I was dressing, I got to thinking about how odd it was for Mama to send me to see Tony. I wondered if his errand was for her, too.

So I followed him and, sure enough, he slipped onto Mama’s terrace. I climbed up a tree that hung out over the wall, and watched.

Mama was there, sunning herself on a deck chair, in the buff like usual. She asked him, “What happened to you?”

Tony took the liberty of pouring himself a big glass of her whiskey before answering. “I made nice to the princess, like you told me. But I never got to the point of … what did you call it?”

“Seducing her?”

“Yeah, that - sedoocin’ her - but afore I could, she was unlacing me breeches and pulling out me peggo. She gave it a kiss on the tip, and then she swallowed it whole – just like that! Then, once her nose was pressed into me fur, she starts to suck. Well, it was only at half-mast when she started, but it came up hard when her throat clamped down on it, I can tell you. And she just keeps sucking until I came. And then kept on a-suckin’.” He shook his head at the memory. “I was hard again by the time she finally let it go. And then …” Here he took another big gulp of single malt. “And then she put her arms in the air, like for me to lift her, and so I does, see? But then she caught hold of my neck, and …” He trailed off, and I could see his neck was colouring, which pleased me for some reason.

“Go on.”

“So then she pushed her little pussy down on me business, and she was so wet … well, begging yer pardon, mum, she was so slippery inside it was like someone had just been there afore me. Sloppy seconds, as they say, mum. I’m not saying as anyone had just done her,” he hastened to add, “but the only one I ever had what was so slick in there was yerself, mum.” He smiled to show her that it was meant as a compliment. “Anyhow, she took me whole peggo at the one go. Lord, but she’s as tight as yerself, too. And I swear it was like she was sucking on me down there, too, just like when you do it. I didn’t think she was ever goin’ to stop.”

Mama considered this information, while Tony took another slug of scotch. “Thank you Tony. Are you ready for your reward?” Her bare legs drifted apart a smidgen.

“Lord, mum! I’ll need a bit more time to get me strength back, beggin’ yer pardon.”

Mama just laughed. “I can wait.” Which was too bad - I was hoping to watch.

That was yesterday. This morning was warm and sunny, and Mama invited me for a picnic up in the palace’s rooftop garden, just the two of us. We splashed about in the big fountain, naked, just like we used to do when I was little. Only now, we look just like sisters. Seriously – Mama doesn’t look a bit different from that old painting of her down in the Dining Hall, the one that’s called ‘Venus of the Seas’, which everyone pretends isn’t Mama but they all know it is. We could be twins, practically, except for my freckles and red hair (which I get from Papa, but I don’t know where he gets it – nobody else in his family is a red-head). Also, I’m shorter than her – unfair!

Anyhow, after that we sat down on the edge of the pool, dibbling our toes, drying our hair in the sunshine, and munching goodies out of the big hamper Mama brought up from the palace kitchen. It was so warm that, after we had eaten, we just lay back on the deck and snoozed. As soon as I saw that Mama had nodded off, I fished into the hamper and pulled out one of her special treats – she always seems to hide them away for herself, and I have to sneak them when I can. It was a stupendously big liquorice rope, about three feet long and as thick as my arm. I love liquorice, and I right away opened my mouth way wide and set to sucking on one knobbly end of it. As the candy softened and got greasy, I started sliding a bit more of the delicious thing into my mouth.

When that shiny black rope was past my tongue and poking my tonsils, I nearly had my first come right away. I had to hold still for a moment, while the tingles traveled through me; and then I started to ease it carefully down my throat. I leaned back my head and gave the candy a twist, so as to get it started into in the right opening. Once it was into the very top end of my pussy, I fed in some more. It tasted and felt sooo good – I kept on yumming it up until a foot of the stuff had disappeared.

By that time I was trembling pretty hard. I used one hand to guide the thing into my mouth and the other to trace its progress, rubbing first my throat and then my chest (with side trips to my sensitive nipples). Gradually, I worked my way south until I was kneading my lower belly – I could feel the fat tip of it poking around inside there. My knees had flopped open, and I was shaking more than ever – I was real close to having a come, now. By this time my exposed pussy was drooling, and when I dipped my fingers inside myself, they came away tasting like liquorice.

Pretty soon, that slick candy poked its head out of my pussy. The other end of it, the bit still up in my throat, was soft enough I could bend my head forward to look. That’s my favourite part – seeing the thing poke out of me like I have a fat and shiny black cock, all set off with a necklace of bright pink folds. Well, nearly my favourite part. The best is always when I come, even though I hold off as long as I can.

I had my first one right then and there and it was a doozy. Whew! After it eased up some, I tipped my head back again, and with a hand on each end of that slick candy, I sawed it back and forth for a while. That was good for two more comes. Mmm – I really do love liquorice.

Then I closed my eyes and took a break, but I guess I’d been making some squishing and some squeaking noises when I was coming, one way and another, so I shouldn’t have been surprised when Mama took hold of the bottom end of the rope and give it a long steady pull!

As it slithered through me I had yet another come, and when I calmed down Mama was sitting up and giving me a very funny look. First I thought she was mad about me playing with my food, but then she started sucking on her end of the rope (the other end was still in my pussy). So then I wondered if she was mad about my swiping her liquorice.

She wasn’t, though. She just said, “How long have you been doing that?”

 “Umm – twenty minutes, maybe.”

 “No – I meant … Look, sweetie – I heard you had … fun with Tony yesterday. But you know men come in different sizes, right?”

While Tony happened to own the biggest willie I had ever seen, I did in fact know that the things come in all shapes and sizes - and I liked them all. I wasn’t sure that was what Mama wanted to hear, though, so I just answered, “Um – yes?”

“Well … it’s just that sometimes they’re bigger than Tony. I think you’ve seen Uncle Frank’s … equipment.”

Yeah, like every time he flies over the palace. “That’s different,” I said. “He’s a dragon. Look at Rupert.” - this being her stallion -  “He’s got a great big one too. But they’re not, you know, people.”

Mama blushed a little at the mention of Rupert. “OK – but – here, I’ll show you.  Come over here and say hello to our old friend Pete.” She meant the sitting faun statue, the one with the big willie Mama calls Peter (that is to say, she calls the faun Peter). He sits out on the fountain in the middle of the pool, along with a big-boobed river maiden – Doreen - plus some frogs and dolphins and stuff. They all have names, too – Mama loves naming things.

So we got dunked again and waded out to the fountain. I couldn’t tell where Mama was going with this. Pete wasn’t just big, he was too big, and technically, he wasn’t human, either, since his bottom half, the part with the stiff cock, was goatish. Also there was the whole thing about him being made out of marble.

“Try rubbing your pussy on Pete’s knob,” says Mama, all offhand like she was saying ‘try another grape’.

I’d just had four comes (at least – I tend to loose count), but I was keen enough for more stimulation, so I shrugged and climbed up the nose of a dolphin until I stood dripping beside the grinning satyr statue. I had to stand with one foot on its hip and my other foot high in the air so as to touch my drooling pussy against the cool, well-polished marble. It felt pretty good, actually, and I started to press harder.

This is when the weirdness started. My pussy lips splayed out on the smooth surface, fine, but they stretched, too. I was having trouble balancing, and when I tipped toward the thing, that big head popped right inside me, even though it was as big as – I don’t know, a big apple or orange or something. Bigger than anything I had ever tried to put in there, that’s for sure. Not only that, but my weight was all right on the tip of that stone willie. Once I had started tipping onto it, I kept on going.

“I’m slipping,” I squawked – actually, it still felt great, but I was afraid it was gonna end up being way too fat for me. And yet I kept sliding steadily on down. I think the only thing that slowed my plunge was that it had to stretch me inside as I dropped. Mama was nodding encouragingly, though, and by the time it had filled my pussy as far as somewhere behind my jiggling tits, it seemed likely the rest wouldn’t be a problem. So I decided to just relax and enjoy it all. The marble shaft inside me was holding me bolt upright, so my hands were free to play with my stiff clit and my nipples.

I had started out facing Mama, but the way I fell caused me to spiral down, which added some interesting sensations. I was really, really enjoying it by the time my bum hit bottom. I was facing Pete, now, with my legs sticking out either side of me like one of the frogs, and my fleshy mound was mashed rather pleasantly against Pete’s carved marble one. As for my top end, well, that stone prick-head had arrived just past where my pussy meets my gullet – that is to say, just above the base of my throat. I ran my hand up my neck to where there was now a hard bulge – it felt like I had a new Adam’s apple.

I was so worked up that I began to bounce on it. Mmm! On the down stroke I found I could both press my clit under me and simultaneously tickle my tonsils with the knob up my throat. Oh - My - God!  I got a double buzz, like when I play with two guys at once.

I felt another come on its way. I twisted my head around to Mama and squeaked out, “Oh, oh, it’s gonna happen again!”

Before she could answer, I heard a gurgling sound from far away and squawked again. This old fountain is rigged to squirt water from one spout or another, pretty much randomly, first from a frog and then a turtle, but I swear it always knows just where you’re standing. It was bound to be Pete’s turn to squirt water, seeing as how his fountain jet was at the tip of his willie. Sure enough, I felt the pipe up inside me tremble as the torrent came, and then a surge of water blasted past my tonsils and out of my mouth and I came.

When I was done coming, I saw that Mama was laughing. I couldn’t keep from giggling, myself – it was all so silly. I tried to stand up, and then realized I wasn’t quite tall enough to get off again. Not that I was ready to, yet, but the fact that I was completely stuck there took me as even funnier. I laughed some more, until my wriggling made me come again. I figured this could go on all afternoon.

While I was busy squirming, Mama got my attention with this zinger: “You do know that nearly no one else in the kingdom can do what you just did, right?”

“What - get stuck on a rock cock?”

“No, silly! Well, yes, that too. It so happens that only you – and I – have our pussies connected to our throats.”

“Come on, everybody has …” It’s hard to talk with a lump in your throat. Hard to think straight with something hard in your pussy, too, but I thought about the girls I’d exchanged smooches with.  I’d just sort of assumed, hadn’t I?  But there was that time when my friend Maria was squatting to suck the dick of my friend Dick (Ha – I just noticed - Dick’s dick!). And I was lying under her, sucking on her pussy. When he came, I could tell it was a geyser, but none of it drained down my way, even though I kept on sucking for ages. At the time I just figured she’d swallowed it, the cheater.

Then there was the time I was lip-locked with Karen while the two of us were playing ‘Randy Roulette’ with Bill (not Randy). You know the game, where he bones each of us a few deep strokes, first one and then the other, until he comes. So anyway, Karen won. Seeing as she was on top of me, and he was clearly coming in buckets, I expected to get a taste of a little of it, but nada. Hmmm …

“And nobody I know about has tonsils that are as sensitive as our clits,” Mama added. (Actually, I thought, that would explain why I like to deliver blowjobs more than anyone I know.) “I certainly didn’t, until I was … changed.”

“Changed?”

There I sat, pleasantly pronged by Pete’s prodigious pecker, while Mama finally told me her story. She stopped whenever I had another come, but gradually I found out about how, over twenty years ago, an old crone had cursed Papa with a colossal cock, and how Mama’s stepmother and stepsisters had been so rotten to her that Shirley, who is really a fairy godmother, had magicked Mama to be able to be Papa’s girlfriend. And so he married her, and then she was stolen away by a Dragon who turned out to be Uncle Frank and he ended up marrying Auntie Trixie after Shirley magicked her … to make a long story short.

The part that Mama had only just figured out was that I had grown up just like her. Which is great, but the thing is, I was right, earlier. Barring Papa, nothing remotely human has a willie like Pete’s. So (again barring Papa) - dragons, centaurs, and fauns (oh my!) are the only creatures with which I can have both a full body fuck and a conversation. And the only one of these I’ve ever actually clapped eyes on, so far, is ‘Uncle’ Frank.

When I reminded Mama about that, she said, “Um – there is Jerry. See, Frank and Trixie hatched a son about the same time you were born. I didn’t know you’d be … well, first you were too little, and then later I didn’t think you would understand our relationship with Frank and Trixie.”

Actually I’m only just beginning to.

Mama continued, “Jerry, he’s more like his mother than is usual for male dragons. He looks a lot like a regular guy. Quite a nice guy, really.”

“How nice?”

“Good looking … very friendly …”

“You mean you and he have…?”

“Yup.”

“Wow. And no scales?”

“No scales.”

“So help get me off this thing, and let’s go over there so I can meet him.”

The thing is, Mama doesn’t want to tell Papa anything, just yet. So she arranged for her and me (and Tony – he drove the coach for us) to go up to Dragon Castle this weekend, while Papa is off on a hunt. It’s quite a ways out of town, up on a mountain crag, and frankly it needs a little work.

According to Mama, Uncle Frank first moved there before I was born, and it was sort of a bachelor pad back then. When you come out of the trees, there’s this big meadow, which is all weedy, but Mama said it looks pretty good now. Apparently it used to be full of great big chewed-up bones, like a pack of junkyard dogs was living there, but years ago Papa sent some men around to clean it up, ‘cause dragons aren’t too handy.

Tony parked just inside the lower gate, and helped us out. I think he’s done this before, since he climbed straight into the back seat with a bottle of Mama’s single malt, like he was expecting a long wait. We crossed a broken-down courtyard and climbed up some steep stairs to get to the front door, which was standing open. To be polite, Mama knocked, using the huge brass ring fastened to the thick wood.

And suddenly Uncle Frank appeared, in all his glory. Like I said before, I’ve seen him – all of him – whenever he and Auntie make a fly-over past the castle. As I think I mentioned, dragons are not given to wearing trousers, although sometimes Auntie Trixie will wear a long satin scarf wrapped around her naughty bits, to be polite. Frankly (Ooh – I think I just made another pun, or something!), given his humongous wings and the long tail and the iridescent scales and the fire breathing, I hadn’t really noticed much else.

Anyway, up close he’s bigger than I expected – all over. Even with his wings folded (well, wrapped around his shoulders like a cape), he pretty much filled that doorway. And he’s also scalier than I’d supposed. Even his big wang is scaly – and just at that moment it was also upright. It reminded me of why I’d come out here.

Mama said, “Why, Frank! You certainly seem happy to see us!”

“I’m always happy to see you, my dear,” he said, all suave. And none of your grovelling ‘your lofty highness’ stuff from him, you’ll notice. “And Karen, dear girl, it’s been a long time – you’ve grown to become a most stunning beauty.” Having scanned me up and down, he then fixed his eyes on mine, a bit overlong, and added, "Welcome to my house!  Enter freely and of your own free will!"

He was so over the top, I couldn’t help but laugh.

Mama said, “You’re wasting that Svengali shit on Karen, Frankie. She’s turned out to be just like her mother.”

“Uncle Frank turned back to her. “Just like you?”

Mama grinned. “Well, she’s shorter and she’s got Al’s red hair, but … yup!”

“Excellent! Come on in, then.”

So we trooped into the great hall, which was, once-upon-a-time, the throne room and dining room and reception room and most everything else for this old castle. Now, the stone walls were all scorched and sooty, and about half the space was taken up by a big pile of shiny dragon treasure – none of it from Papa’s kingdom, of course. The rest was mostly strewn with lots of animal-skin rugs and big pillows. There was a huge fireplace with most of a tree burning in it – dragons like to be warm.

 At the time I barely noticed that stuff, since the first thing I saw was Auntie Trixie. Being a lady dragon, most of her is human looking. She’s got major … well, her assets are definitely bigger than I remembered. Actually, she looks a lot like Mama - except for the big pink wings and tail, and the being nine feet tall. She looks as young as Mama, too, but then they say dragons can live forever – not that anybody actually knows, ‘cause in the stories I’ve read, they always seem to meet a bad end.

She was also looking flushed and nipply, like she was coming over all hot and bothered (I know the feeling). I glanced behind me and saw that Mama had already hung up her travelling cloak and was in the process of skinning off her dress and underskirts. When in Rome, I thought, and after giving Auntie a hug, I went over to where the pegs were and followed Mama’s lead, starting with my Crown Princess cape.

When I had stripped down to the buff, I turned back to the hall, and there were Uncle and Auntie, carrying Mama over to the nearest stack of cushions.

“Mama!”

“Sorry dear, I nearly forgot. Trixie – where’s Jerry?”

Auntie answered, “He’s upstairs in his room … reading,” as though she found the idea mystifying. Then she looked me up and down and added, “Oh! You have grown up, haven’t you? Run on upstairs, Karen. Jerry’s been looking forward to meeting you!”

Well I’d long since figured out that Mama was in for a good fucking, and I was beginning to leak a bit, in sympathy – or possibly in envy. Whatever, I took the tower steps two at a time. But horny or not, I was still nervous. What if Jerry didn’t like me? What if he didn’t even like girls? But Mama had implied that he’d liked her well enough.

My head was swimming by the time I popped out of the spiral staircase and into a cozy room that looked out over the valley below. And there was Jerry, sitting on a comfy settee by the window, a book in his hand. He jumped up when he saw me, and we stood gaping at one another.

He is, basically, a hunk – seven feet tall, with wide shoulders, narrow waist, and shaggy black hair. Plus, of course, some dragony bits, like the ten-foot tail that attaches at the top of his butt, just where my own tailbone is, only his keeps on going for about eight or ten feet. It starts out fairly thick and tapers out until it’s about two inches thick and it’s kinda weird looking owing to it hasn’t got scales or fur, just skin like Auntie’s.

And then there are those wings. They spread wide when he stood, like he was about to take off. They’re sorta bat-like, and skin-toned - also like his mother’s - but they’re tanned like he’s spent a lot of time outdoors. The tail and wings should have made him look creepy – they’re a bit like the ones on the carved devil in the Chapel back home – but they didn’t. Not with the goofy big smile he was wearing, anyhow.

And, of course, that’s all he was wearing.

“Um – I’m Karen.” I tried not to stare at the three-foot hose of flesh that hung between his thighs.

“Right … yeah … I’ve seen your pictures … in the papers … but not all of you, of course …” He glanced up and down, mumbled to a halt, and then started over. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Jerry.” He sat back down on his pillowed couch and pointed to the other end. “Come and sit.”

For some reason, I came over all shy, so I climbed onto the settee and folded myself up so that one knee was up under my chin, hiding my breasts. Then I realized that my other knee was cocked out flat and my ankles were crossed, so that my drooling pussy was spread wide open. Gawd!

But he wasn’t even looking down there now – he was gazing at my face. And so we talked. He told me about his life, and I told him about mine. It was funny – we each thought the other’s life must be a lark. So I explained how boring it was opening market stalls and libraries and stuff, and he told me about how hard it was stealing treasure and cattle with his father.

At some point, I realized he was just as shy as I was, and that he was desperately talking about all sorts of things to hide it. I was having the same effect on him as he was having on me! He even told me how he was afraid he was a disappointment to his Dad, owing to he didn’t have scales and fangs, like a regular boy-dragon. “My wings are pink, for heaven’s sake. Pink!” Of course, I assured him he was a fine specimen of dragon-dom, one that anyone would be proud of.

Sometime during all true confession stuff, I felt his tail touch my ankle. When he’d sat back down, it wrapped itself around him like a cat’s. But then – well, you know how a kitten’s tail will slide around like it’s trying to sneak up on him, and then he’ll chase it and roll around trying to catch it? Not that Jerry was chasing his tail, but he didn’t seem to notice what it was doing, either.

What it was doing was sliding up the inside of my right leg. It was just the gentlest of touches, but it sure made it hard to concentrate on our conversation. It tickled its way up my thigh, and barely slowed down when it found my open pussy lips. I blinked when the blunt tip of it nosed its way inside me. Not to say this didn’t feel great, but it seemed a bit presumptuous on such a short acquaintance. I was about to sort of bring it to Jerry’s attention, but he was looking out the window and his face didn’t give any sign that he knew what his other end was doing. When I looked back down, there was already a good six inches of tail in my pussy.

I was starting to tremble, and it was getting really hard to focus on what Jerry was saying. Something really ought to be said about this, I thought, but now there was at least a foot of tail up into my belly, and that made it seem a bit late for comment, somehow. Jerry’s tail gets progressively fatter as it gets closer to his backside, and so as the tip eased up into my chest, my pussy lips started getting stretched pretty good. I stared down in fascination to where it was sliding into me – there was yards more tail to come.

Speaking of coming, I soon did, when the thing’s tip first touched my tonsils. By this time I was tugging on my clit, as well, so I got a full double-barrelled come (Mama says that saying comes from the buzz at a party when the crowd has finished the second keg of mead). It was wonderful!

About then Jerry was talking about how he had learned how to fly without flapping his wings, just gliding on thermals, whatever they are. I can’t remember the details since I was kinda flying myself. He was staring hard out the window and the tips of his wings were flickering like he was already in the clouds.

His head was sure in the clouds, anyway – when the end of that sexy pink tail slid out of my open mouth, Jerry still didn’t notice, even though it looked like I was sticking my tongue out at him. Of course I couldn’t talk by then, either, just grunt. Actually I couldn’t have talked, anyway, on account of each bumpy vertebra was joggling my tonsils on the way past, and you know what tonsil twaddling does to me. My eyes were starting to roll back in my head.

Jerry was getting almost as excited as me, just explaining about soaring, and his powerful tail was starting to straighten out. It tipped me back, part way, so it was practically holding me horizontally over the couch, except for my bum, which was providing enough traction on the cushions for even more of that tail to slide through me. By now there was over two feet of it looping out of my mouth, while my pussy lips were being stretched even more than they had been by Pete. It was about then that I grabbed at the section of tail twitching above my face, with both hands.

Jerry definitely felt that. He paused in mid sentence and said, “Oh,” and then he spun to look at me and said, “OH!”

Unfortunately, as he spun around his tail shot up, so what he saw of me was a blur as I flew into the air. Several feet of tail unreeled through me, but luckily gravity took over before I hit the ceiling. Down I came, but of course I was still threaded through from end to end. I scrabbled to get a fresh grip on the thing as it shot back out of my mouth, but it was all slick with my juices, and so by the time Jerry caught me in his arms, my head was back, my mouth was stretched super wide, and I was looking dizzily along my nose at four feet of thick and shiny pinkness.

Poor Jerry was hugging me tight, and apologizing up and down and sideways, although to be fair I’d had ample opportunity to tell him to knock it off. Well, up to the point when my mouth was full, anyways. He told me how sorry he was, some more, and I grunted some more, until he noticed his tail was still projecting from my face. At which point he snaked it out of me, about as quick as it takes me to tell it. Needless to say, I came yet again.

When I came back to my senses, I found another reason for Jerry’s continued apologies. Against my belly was the hot, hard hose of a dragon dong. Also between my squished breasts. And pressed to my left cheek. In spite of his best intentions, Jerry was excited. Me too. All I could think of was to ride that thing, NOW!

“Please,” I said. I was a little bit hoarse – I always am when I’m turned on, owing to my tonsils tend to swell up – “Please?” I reached up and caressed his plump knob to give him the idea.

For a guy who goes around reading, it took a while for Jerry to catch on, but finally he says, “You’re just like your mother.”

As a general rule, this is not what a girl likes to hear as a preliminary to sex, but I was prepared to make an exception.

As for Jerry, once I had convinced him what I wanted, he lifted me by the hips to set me on the tip of that mighty wang. He looked me in the eyes again, to make sure, and I must have seemed pretty desperate - he nodded once and then stuffed me down onto his business in one long steady go. It was a good thing he’d opened me up with his tail – he was even bigger than Pete.

This time was the best yet - unlike liquorice or marble, he was alive. Well, so was that tail of his, of course, but this part was made to fit me. Not counting the foot or so that stuck out my mouth once I had bottomed out, of course.

“Erk,” I told him, and fluttered my eyes a bit to suggest something along the lines of: ‘I’m fine, thank you, so carry on, if you don’t mind.’

I think he got it – he started hoisting me up and down over his pole. I was going wild by then – kinda losing it. I went all limp, and my legs and arms were flapping any-which-way, like a rag doll.

And then – it was like I came out the other side. I could take charge of my limbs again, even though I was still coming - over and over! Now at least a part of me could start taking in other stuff. Most of my vision at that moment was taken up by the fat cockhead that kept bursting out of my mouth and then disappearing again to rattle my tonsils. But each time it slid back down my throat, I could see his face. He had a slightly maniacal grin on his face, and, honest-to-God, there was smoke coming out of his nostrils.

I guess it was coming up his turn to lose it – he’d started marching around his room, still bouncing me on that thing of his, and flapping his wings to beat the time.

And I got to thinking. This was way cool, but I was remembering what Mama had said, about how Uncle Frank had flown all the way here with her on his dick. She’d got a dreamy look on her face when she’d told me. And now here I was with Jerry, who had got excited just talking about flying. OK – so I was getting greedy. Princess, remember? The next time he marched me past his wrought-iron chandelier, I caught hold of it and pulled myself off his business far enough to be able to blurt out, “Can we maybe go for a soar?”

His eyes positively bugged out, and I could feel his cock go from lazy-hard to iron hard, inside me. If Mama hadn’t told me she’d done it with him, I’d have said this was his first time. Anyway, he gasped out, “Oh yes …”, which luckily was directed toward the open window because his words were punctuated by balls of fire the size of my head.

For my part, well, Papa’s often told me that you should be careful what you wish for – and he should know (although from what Mama’s told me, in his case things turned out just fine).

Two quick steps and a single lurching bound and Jerry was standing on the windowsill. Suddenly I was suspended out over an abyss, and starting to wonder if flying was such a great idea.

And then he simply stepped off into empty air. No – actually, he dove off, and we were both falling headfirst to a sticky death. Mama had neglected to mention anything like this. His wings were spread wide, and I felt them shudder as they bit the air. At the last possible moment we changed direction and began hurling sideways instead of down, when we were so close to the bottom that I could feel the tall grass whipping my bare backside.

At that point, Jerry let out a great whoop – or, rather, a roar – and unleashed a blast of dragon fire that torched most of the front meadow as we crossed. In spite of my terror, it struck me that breathing fire may suit Uncle Frank but was somewhat unnerving coming from a boy. All right – three feet of cock in my belly entitled him to be considered a man. Dragon-man. Whatever.

We were still flying low enough to roast chickens in a barnyard – which we weren’t, of course, on account of there was nothing but the odd raven around this old place. And then the trees came up, fast, and Jerry commenced a proper frenzy of flapping. The vibration set me off again, and I swear I was coming harder than I ever had before – which is saying something.

The whole time my pussy was launched into its latest end-to-end assault on Jerry’s sturdy shaft, we were climbing steadily up toward the peak of Mount Gnarl, the biggest mountain hereabouts. Like I said, I’d got hold of myself back in the bedroom, and so I could take in the view even while the continuing waves of orgasmic pleasure were washing through me. Pretty soon we were looking down on Mount Gnarl, and down on most of the rest of Papa’s lands, plus several of the neighbouring kingdoms, besides. All of it upside down, in my case.

I was pleased to see that Jerry had got a grip, as well. He had stopped flapping, and we were now sort of surfing a current of air that was coming up from below. Hey, I thought. We’re soaring! It was positively restful. Both of us were kinda blessed out. Then I remembered the part of Mamma’s story about how, when Uncle Frank flew around with a girl, he was courting, sort of, and I wondered if – Geez – maybe me and Jerry were now engaged.

I’d have asked him about that, right then and there, but – well, you know. I did hum a bit, which he seemed to like. Also, I forgot to mention that, iron cock inside me or not, I had my arms and legs wrapped tight as hell around his neck and butt. Hey, we were a long way up.

We cruised around over the mountains like that for a while, and I decided I was definitely getting the hang of this, when Jerry started to show signs that he was getting close to coming, at long last. I mean, he hadn’t come once yet to my umpteen times, so big points for stamina. But now he was starting to hyperventilate, and the veins on his cute temples were starting to pulse in a way I’d seen often enough before, and I thought, Hang on, girl, you’re in for a ride!

Sure enough, he commenced to flap, again, and we started to go straight up, higher than ever, and then - Oh my Gawd! - I could actually feel his monster cock bulge as the first round of cum slammed up through it – through me. And then the explosion of pearly liquid erupted above my head, and hung there. I was coming, too (or again, or whatever): a spectacular whole-body, sparklers-and-fireworks, cunt-juices-squirting and toes-curling orgasm. And yet at the same time I thought, that’s funny, floating beads of cum, and then I noticed that Jerry had folded his wings and we – me, him and his cum – were all falling.

FALLING? Not good! Jerry had stopped flapping and gone all limp (well, his arms and legs, anyway), and I thought, My God, he’s passed out, and then he looked down at me and grinned. I would have grinned back, but apart from the aforesaid impediment, I was now thinking, Yes, that was really, really great but there’s no time for this – flap, already!

We sort of rotated as we plunged, and I could feel the wind, now, and see the mountain rushing up at us. Closer and closer – Please, please flap! – I could see the spinning snowfields and crags and a stream … and then BAM! But we weren’t dead, we were still falling, and icy water hung all around us, like it was frozen, only not – it was twisting like a silver curtain in a breeze. Meanwhile, a rock wall was a blur in front of my face. I had just enough time to understand we were right in the middle of a high waterfall, and then – FINALLY – Jerry’s wings stretched out, and we shot out of the suddenly pounding deluge and glided out to follow the side of the mountain downward to the castle below.

Well, WOW! I was tingly all over, and not just because of the ice bath. The breeze was warmer as we dropped, and by the time we swooped onto the open top of the highest tower, we were nearly dry. Once I saw he was standing on solid ground, more or less, I unwrapped my arms and legs from my new lover, and took some of my own weight. Once I had stopped wobbling, he began to disengage his cock – he had to lick the end of his knob to re-lubricate it for the passage back through me. And all the time I was thinking, my lover, over and over, until his cock popped free and I croaked out, “You scared the Bejeezus out of me!” and I started to beat on his chest.

I was laughing and crying, all at the same time, and then he kissed me – major tongue, so that he was rattling my tonsils from the top - and I thought, maybe this could just work out. 

The Fourth Part (point one)

Further adventures, with even more Fire Breathing, a Forgotten Bacchanalia, another Warning concerning Blacksmithies, Hot Tail in the Dark, and  yet another Member of Unusual Size. Also tuna.

Frank was Laying a little Waste when the message came. Just to keep his hand in, really.  After harvest time, he would fly over the fields around his castle home looking for the signs. Specifically, he looked for red handkerchiefs tacked up on sticks, which the local farmers used to mark the fields where they wanted the stubble burned off. Then, WHOOSH - more satisfyingly scorched earth.

The packet pigeon that found him had obviously flown from a long way off, but it would be uncool for a dragon to seem curious, so he flew over to a nearby ledge near the base of his mountain. Beside his perch, a spectacular waterfall plunged into a deep pool, before one last sixty-foot cascade. He fished into the icy water and pulled out a small barrel and a stoneware crock. After a long, cinder-quenching swallow of beer from the keg, he pulled the lid off the crock. It was his favourite.

“Tuna casserole?” he asked the pigeon, politely.

“Thanks, I’ll pass,” said the bird, who was perched on the tip of the monster’s huge erect wang, so as to be able to converse without shouting.

“Ale?”

“Not while I’m on duty, Thank you.”

Frank scooped some tuna into his jaws. The snackage was provided (along with many other perks) by the valley residents, who had discovered that a content dragon - that is to say, a well fed and well fucked dragon - left their livestock and their nubile young daughters alone. (He also tended to keep the area clear of thieves - both the regular brigands and King Al’s taxmen.) So they kept the groceries coming, while Frank’s wife Trixie (and a few of her friends) took care of the fuckage.

After sating himself, the appeased dragon said, “Well then. What’s the message?”

“Ahem. ‘from The Pyrotechnical Lord Richard Ribbontongue of the Enchanting Forest of Dryadia...’”

“Old Twisty Dick! How the devil is he?”

In spite of herself, the pigeon asked, “As in, ‘the only fellow with a corkscrew prick’?”

“Eh, what? Ah yes, the bawdy poem. No, not our Dick - close enough, I suppose, but not corkscrewed exactly. Just has a few bends in it - the ladies quite enjoy it, or so I’m told.”

Too much information, thought the pigeon. “I see. Well then - I shall continue. ‘To Flaming Lord Francis Brassballs of Erewon Valley in the Outreaches of Guilder. Sent at Ten-oh-five o’clock of the morning, on the Twenty-third of September in the Third Year of the Dingbat …’”

“Yes, yes, Go on!”

“Erm. Right. Text begins: ‘Sorry Frankie, but we got Trouble with a capital T out here, exclamation mark, exclamation mark.’”

The gist of Dick’s message was this: over the past few months, refugees from the neighbouring kingdom of Gridiron had begun to turn up at the menacing oaken gate of his walled forest stronghold, far to the west of Erewon (as Frank had permitted Queen Cindy to rename his valley home). Given its cultivated reputation for danger (hence the gargoyles hired to perch on the arch above), Dryadia was hardly anyone's first choice. Unfortunately for all concerned, Alaric - the Baleful Tyrant of Gridiron - had closed his other borders. Stragglers, whole families, and even a few of Alaric’s troops had begged for passage through the dreaded faerie forest. For the sake of appearances, Dick had arranged for charred uniform fragments from the latter to be tossed back out the doorway.

Those admitted were immediately inspected by psychic werewolves, and any who stank of evil were also tossed - with a growled suggestion that they were being treated to a running start.  Still, the majority, having passed the sniff test, soon found themselves guests at one of a series of bacchanals in their honour.

 As the feasting progressed, the newcomers consumed great quantities of ale ... along with Granny Gorn’s Over-proof Forgetting Formula. By and by, they found themselves frolicking with both each other and their hosts; there was wild music and continuous dancing all around them, to the relentless, primal, hypnotic beat of drums: bumtittiebumtittiebumbumbum ... . 

From there, these ceremonies always devolved into your traditional drunken orgy. Over the course of the night, each and every one of them coupled repeatedly, in ways they had never dreamt of, with every other guest present - including with a number of creatures they may never have even heard of, far less seen in the flesh (as it were). Satyrs and nymphs abounded, naturally; but there were, for example, also a number of frog-lasses who were quite arousing (if slippery) once enough ale had gone down. And it should be said that gargoyle gentlemen sport impressive (and permanent) stiffies. Faeries, gnomes and elves were also present, romping with much stranger beings. Flying Phalluses also fluttered in to join the fun - they were considered lucky, although they were terrible opportunists, and any orifice not otherwise engaged would soon be pounded by one of these madly fluttering beasties.

By dawn they were all of them fucked to exhaustion; but some of the more resilient Faerie-folk were still up to the chore of carrying their unconscious guests to the high pass and over into the allied lands of Earl Anchovy the Mellow. There they woke the next afternoon with shocking hangovers, laying together naked in a lovely flowered meadow. They would soon discover that they had forgotten virtually everything of their past lives, including  their names ... and, it followed, who was related to whom.

Most particularly they'd forgotten  their inhibitions, given that the few memories they retained were fragments of the previous night’s delectable celebrations: images of heaving rumps and writhing limbs; of flushed and busy genitalia of all descriptions and sizes; and of skin, fur and feathers all sprinkled with pearly beads of cum that glistened red in the flickering torchlight. And of a leathery-winged creature sporting an extraordinary prehensile tongue.

The actual Trouble reported by the pigeon arrived along with the last three refuges from Gridiron to pass under the carved arch that pierced Dryadia’s protective wall. These particular guests the Tyrant was very determined to retrieve.

Of course, the full story was much more complicated.

~~~

Although ruled by a Tyrant, Gridiron was in fact a kingdom. However, King Gustav the Twenty Third was presently no more than a figurehead: the possessor of the face they put on stamps and sovereigns was kept locked in a drafty tower in his own capital - Grid. Until Gustav had become king upon the unexpected demise of his father (it turns out even kings must be wary of cuckolding the blacksmith), he had been busy following family tradition as a wastrel devoted to wine, women and song - not necessarily in that order. Although in many ways thick as a brick (and this too did not differentiate him from his ancestors), Gustav had managed the rare insight to be aware of that particular shortcoming. He decreed that his kingdom would be run - in his name - by citizens who would be chosen by their fellows.

This worked marvellously ... for a time. But the arrangement required a civil sort of servant to explain the workings of state to each newly elected leader. Recently the current such servant - Alaric - perceived that he knew far more about wielding power than anyone else in the kingdom, and so he seized it.

The final part of his plan was to marry himself to the Princess Rose. The fact that the king's daughter and sole heir was shockingly beautiful was, to Alaric, a relatively minor detail ... although he had actually fantasized about fucking her for almost too long a time (even by Gridiron standards).

She, on the other hand, was having unreasonable objections. "Not over your dead body" had certainly sounded definitive - if illogical.

A more serious difficulty for Alaric was that most of the army was ambivalent about this part of his scheme, although the bits about marching into the neighbouring kingdoms and looting them sounded just fine. Accordingly, he had gathered together a personal guard of the usual brown-shirted, ex-school-bully sort, and stationed them within the inner castle.

And so his witty response to Princess Rose's objections had been, "Strip her, blindfold her and take her to the dungeon!"

His order was obeyed with some pleasure, until he added, "And no one is to molest her - if she is deflowered, I'll know about it."

This part of the  order was received with consternation - even these lumpen lackeys were aware that the princess was not, by any stretch of the imagination, chaste. Indeed, everyone in the castle, apparently excepting Aleric, could hear her cries of pleasure whenever she was in the throws of ecstasy.

As it happened, his spies had, in exchange for certain of her favours, reported that she was at those times rapturously worshiping the gods. This may occasionally have been true - the temples of Gridiron were circular, with the people in the centre, and priests fronting for the various deities stationed around the perimeter. Thus one parishioner could be pulling on her hair and wailing, whist another could be pulling on her clit ... and wailing. It paid to shop around.

If not a virgin, Rose was certainly intelligent (for a royal). She could tell that the guards were now trying to decide whether to fuck her anyway - on the premise that it would be better to be hung for a sheep than a lamb. "You won't," she told the Tyrant. "Know, that is. I had an unfortunate accident involving a carrot, er, cart when I was young. You'd better come along to keep this lot honest."

And so he did. They led her through the labyrinthine bowels of the place, until he abruptly stopped and said, "Here."

Rose  heard a metallic scrapping, and them was thrust without ceremony onto the ground. Behind her was the distinctive boom of an iron door closing, and then the sound of hobnailed boots receding into the distance. She tore off the blindfold and was rewarded with absolute darkness. Although she was not by nature a nervous sort of girl, this was unsettling. And so was the muffled whimpering coming out of the unknown void around her.

"Hello?" she ventured. The echo was distant.

"Hello," came a tiny response - it was a female voice. "Over here ..."

"Who are you? And where are we?" tried Rose. She needed to fix on the girl's direction - and to decide if it was safe enough to go there.

"I'm Daisy."

And "I'm Violet," announced a new voice, slightly deeper but definitely also female. "We can't tell what this place is - but there's just us in here. The priests plan to sacrifice us to the Dragon tomorrow."

Daisy whimpered, and Rose shuddered. Once upon a time, the priests had annually sacrificed virgins to ensure a good harvest. This had evolved somewhat - now it was tribute to prevent the dragon from burning the harvest. And since the priests disagreed on the level of sexual expertise the dragon desired, both a virgin and a whore were tied to stakes at sunset. There was no explanation given as to why this mattered for a dragon's dinner, but unquestionably there were heard the folapping of great leather wings in the night, and in the morning the girls were always gone. Like most people, Rose tried not to think about it much. And now the prospective victims were sharing her dungeon.

Unlike most people, she also had some inside information. Before the coup d'état, her father had still done the 'head of state / friendly ambassador' gig. She'd once seen on his desk a letter in vermillion copperplate handwriting that thanked him for the lovely new girls, and said that Jade and Elderberry sent their kind regards. It had been signed Ribbontongue. He - her father, that is - explained that her great grandfather (on the King side, and her great uncle  twice over on her mother's side) couldn't stop the sacrifice, but had persuaded the priests that the dragon preferred to "eat" live girls. She suspected the air quotes were her benefit, and had not been displayed for the priests.

Violet interrupted her thoughts. "I always figured that this sacrifice deal would at least involve some top-of-the-line clothes and grub, but they didn't even give us blankets. And to cap it off, when we found this stone bed and pillow, there was some stone birk already laying on it."

"Um," said Rose, heading in the direction of the voices. "We must be in the crypt. Where the royal tombs are, under the Great Temple," she added, helpfully. These girls were probably not regulars at the city's Temple - it was necessary to import virgins from the outer farm communities and, not coincidentally, prostitutes had to be rounded up from the southern ports (nobody had to pay for it in Grid). She groped her way carefully toward their voices and, in all probability, toward the effigy of the renowned warrior-king 'El Kid'.

Not carefully enough, as it turned out. She'd avoided so much as a stubbed toe as she felt her way through the blackness, and then managed to stumble on the girls - quite literally. They'd been sitting together under, not on top of, the great Kid's tomb, and she sprawled right across them. "Hi - I'm Rose," she announced. Under the circumstances, it seemed unnecessary to play the royalty card.

It quickly became apparent that they were dressed the same way as she herself was - which is to say, with a simple attire of goosebumps. They felt soft and warm, and as she struggled unsuccessfully to untangle herself she also felt evidence that they were well made - all their bits were clearly up to specifications. What had begun as flailing soon relaxed into appeasing gestures. When she accidentally put her hands into several moist and private places, the girls also turned out to be remarkably responsive.    

Rose was surprised. She supposed if someone were condemned to die tomorrow - or to marry - they would be a little preoccupied. But she found their presence, and touch, reassuring, and apparently it was the same for them. They were soon groping one another in the dark, strangers all (between licking turgid clits and nipples, Daisy and Violet acknowledged that they had yet to clap eyes on one another, having been tossed into the crypt separately). 

That element of mystery seemed only to make their explorations more sensuous, and more exciting, as each tried to divine the appearance of the others. Rose found that Daisy had slightly smaller breasts (but longer nipples) and more muscular forearms than Violet; whereas, Violet had firmer thighs - more like Rose's own, although Rose didn't ride professionally.

Caressing hands and roving mouths gradually led to a tribadistic three-way, with slick pussy lips grinding on any firm flesh to hand. After the blessed release of orgasms all round, they reorganized themselves in a rough triangle, nose to tail on the marble-tiled floor, and proceeded to set upper mouths to neighbouring lower to good effect.

It was some time (and numerous more orgasms) before a coherent thought came to Rose. "Um - have they locked up the side door?"

"How would we know?"

Rose could hear the implied shrug. "There's a passage that's hidden behind King Gordon the Gruff's ...” she started. "Okay, you haven't actually seen this place. Anyway, I think I can find the spot - we've got all night. The guards probably don't know about it. The priests and choirboys use it to slip out to the stables."

"Uh-huh," said Violet.

 "Just to get home before the crowds, after a funeral. No, really. Only there hasn't been a service down here for years." As she led the others on a convoluted search, she told them about how she'd heard that the sacrifice thing wasn't fatal - probably. Then came the tricky bit. She explained that their only escape would be to leave the country, and that the only remaining way out was through the lands of the same dragon they were hoping to avoid.

Somehow, she managed to gloss over the whole out-of-the frying-pan-into-the-fire part of her plan. The interruptions helped - she had to stop occasionally and make sharp squeaking sounds, then listen for echoes. The nearest wall to El Kid should have - YES, there was the bronze effigy of Sir Lance. She could feel his mighty lance, all polished smooth from the groping and fondling of superstitious womenfolk hoping to get pregnant (or at least laid).

Daisy giggled when Rose led her hand to the sturdy landmark. Country girls can be chaste but they are not generally ignorant.

 So Gordo was about three kings and a self-styled emperor away to the left, as near as she could remember. She led her shuffling group from one pillared niche to the next, then:

 "It should just be over this iron rail and along this wall ... Ow! Watch out for these marble angel tits!"

 The passage was unlocked, as she'd hoped. It was long, narrow, and of course dark; and of the three of them, she was the most disturbed by the many spider webs. Luckily there was no confusing branching, and eventually they found themselves pushing open a small wooden doorway and blinking in the early dawn sunlight that was leaking, in random dust-mote filled spears, into what smelled clearly like their horsey destination.

 They were well launched on their escape - the stables were just beyond the inner castle wall (only the Tyrant and his guard still had parking rights close to the palace). But instead of fleeing, they stood staring at one another.

Her companions, Rose now saw, were even more beautiful than they'd felt or smelled or tasted, or than their lyrical voices had revealed. Their curves and bumps she had imagined fairly accurately; but she had failed, for example, to detect Daisy's bright green eyes, or her constellation of freckles. Nor had she suspected the brilliant red hair that crowned the girl's head, and reappeared on her arms and lower belly as fine sparks wherever the shafts of sunlight touched her fuzz - and which showed up yet again as an exuberant tuft of colour between her creamy thighs. Whereas, Violet was now revealed to be the shade of well-creamed coffee, while her shock of thick wavy hair turned out to be as black as the midnight they had just left (and as far removed as possible from her own golden blonde locks).  The girl's sable curls fell opulently across her dark almond eyes, and brushed her high cheekbones.

 It was Daisy who first pulled her goofy grin into an alarmed 'O'. "We've got to get moving!"

Rose's bossy princess genes took over for her. "Right - Daisy find us some cloaks." No need to repeat the recent stir caused by that Lady Gooddiver. "Violet, divert the stable boys." Her professional skills would prove useful now. "I'll round up some horses for us."

 By the time the stable lads recovered the use of their legs, if not their cocks, Rose and her new friends were riding (stimulatingly bareback) out the North Gate, their scintillating nakedness hidden under huge dusty riding cloaks. The guards, whose professional focus was directed toward the trickle of early morning incoming traffic, gave them barely a glance.

~~~

The border, when approached, was obvious - open grasslands on their side ran up to an imposing stone wall running as far as they could see. Behind rose an ominous forest; to the east they could see the towers of the Great Gate. They rode in that direction, and presently they were close enough to be hailed by an ugly figure squatting on the parapet above.

"Halt! Who goes there?"

"Princess Rose and her companions!" She dramatically threw back her hood, unaware that her shock of blonde hair was now a frightening tangle. Violet and Daisy looked at her in surprise - more in regard to the princess thing, which was news to them, than the scary hair.

"Fair enough. Are those others with you?" The Gate Keeper pointed beyond them with what looked like a stiff grey wing.

 Rose looked back to see a cloud of dust in the middle distance - horsemen. "Ah. No. No, they are most definitely not with us."

"Thought not. Better come in then, quick like."

A small studded door in the massive gate swung open, and a wizened old man peered out. "Welcome to Dryadia."

They led their horses through the opening into an empty courtyard, and the old man then carefully barred the door behind them.

"Just you six, then?" He seemed to be addressing Rose's horse. The creature snorted and whickered. "Oh. He says you're running this show." He appeared to be about to ask another question of either her or the horse, when they were interrupted by a row outside.

"Send the wenches out!"

"Why?" they heard the Gate Keeper ask.

"They are to be sacrifices for ..." It suddenly struck the owner of the loud voice - presumably the officer in charge of their capture - that since the girls were now in the custody of the Dragon, there was a certain lack of logic in what he was about to say. Instead he bellowed, "It is the will of the Tyrant!"

"Fuck off."

The next sound they heard was a muffled order, and then the twang of many bows. This was followed quickly by the thwack of iron barbs on stone and on the great door itself, plus the appearance of half a dozen arrows that had been shot clean over the gate and across the courtyard.

"I said fuck off, you wankers." This was followed by what sounded distinctly like a huge fart.

The result was a chorus of muffled curses and coughing.

"I think," said the old man, "that you'll be wanting to see the Boss."

 ~~~

Their escort, like the doorman if not the gatekeeper, seemed normal enough for a certified Faerie Land. Refreshing, even - he was a handsome young man dressed in a sort of toga affair that failed to completely conceal his more than adequate manhood. He and his huge dogs (they had not yet been properly introduced to the psychic werewolves) led them on their mounts through meadow and forest, along a wide but twisted pathway that seemed to be paved with yellow brick.

They were eventually rewarded with a view of a quaint village dominated by a great oaken building, bigger even than most of the temples back home. The villagers themselves more than met their expectations of the citizens of such a place. There were dwarves and elves, certainly; and they recognized the passing satyr - his furry bottom half looked just like in the story books (and Rose had seen a painting in the castle that included his prodigious wang).

The elves were familiar enough, as well as the unicorn; although the black rubber miniskirt and bustiere worn by the maiden riding the latter suggested that virginity was not necessarilya prerequisite for charming these beasts.

But then there was the woman who seemed to be made entirely of water. They agreed that they had possibly been misinformed as to the construction (or complexion) of water nymphs. And the short furred, long-tailed catgirl who rubbed on Violet's thigh and asked her if she'd ever had a proper tongue lashing had definitely never made an appearance in the fairy tales. Since they were on their way to the Dragon, Violet answered with a wink that said, 'I'll see you as soon as I can'.

To top it off, their first sighting of a real Faerie was a bust. Not literally, of course. Quite to the contrary, the fluttering creature was a cock - and not of the sort that Daisy remembered having chased the hens back on the farm.

"How cute," said Rose, but she cursed all the same when the thing squeezed its testicles and spurted on her hair.

Their guide turned and said, "Folks around here say that's lucky." After a quick discussion with their horses, he had the girls dismount and remove the bridles. "I told them his Lordship has granted them leave to stay." Then he led the remainder of his party up the steps to what he grandly announced, as he flung open the doors, as "the Great Hall of The Pyrotechnical Lord Richard Ribbontongue of the Enchanting Forest of Dryadia".

There was a pause as they gazed at the ten-foot tall green dragon within. It was more human in shape than they had been led to expect, and slightly smaller - a sort of lizard man. The creature responded to their stares by spreading his huge wings wide, which manoeuvre served to exhibit his humungous cock. This oversized apparatus was fully erect, with bright emerald scales and several interesting kinks along its length.

Lord Richard suddenly unfurled his fabled tongue far enough to pick up a shining droplet from the tip of his cock. All three girls took an involuntary step backward, and he laughed - a huge braying laugh that echoed around the hall. Folding his wings, he said, "You can call me Dick. And as for my 'Great Hall' - Sir Ramswell has failed to mention that it doubles most nights as a mead hall. So - I gather that you young ladies are my sacrifice?"

"And it's my understanding that my father the King had an agreement!"

Another chuckle. "Oh, yes. Quite so. You're all perfectly safe here. But surely the priests weren't going to sacrifice the princess?"

And so the whole story had to be told from the beginning (minus the naughty bits). They were blissfully unaware that the usual bacchanal and bum's rush were not in their immediate future.

The Fourth Part (point two)

 Having received the message from Dick - AKA Lord Ribbontongue - Frank flew back to his castle, with the messenger pigeon drafting in his wake. On the way, he considered what help he could provide. He had no army, nor even subjects beyond Mabel the cook, Sally the maid, and -  technically - a few stubborn farmers in the lower reaches of his valley.

"The boy and I will fly out there, of course," he told his wife Trixie, after giving her a condensed version of the bird's message. "Could you ask your Fairy Godmother if she might pop over there and scout this out for us?"

 "Of course. Shirley ..."

 <POOF>  "Hello, everybody! This sounds serious - I think I should maybe take the triplets along."

 "You heard everything already?" asked Frank.

Trixie was way ahead of him. By the triplets, Shirley had meant her sisters Florid, Fawna, and Barelyweathered. The trio had been deeply involved in the well known Sleepy Beauty fiasco. "Couldn't they delegate? Like, you could tie all your wands together or something ..."

"Could work. Good idea! See you there, Frankie." >FOOP<

First, Shirley took a layover to confer with her sisters (excepting her own twin, Game Edna, who had unaccountably chosen a career in entertainment) at their mighty mountain Fortress of Lassitude. This establishment was created from a static ripple of space-time, and permitted easy travel in both. The downside was that inside the mighty gates was a single room no bigger than their old cottage in the forest.

She had some catching up to do - what with her fairy godmothering (and her dedication to making the two-backed beast with Fullstaff back at the Boar's Little Head, just off Gropecunt Lane), she hadn't been by to visit for some time. After catching up (and some rumptypumpty - she was very fond of her sisters), she manifested onward.

<POOF>  "Hello, everybody!"

Ribbontongue jumped six feet and blasphemed a fire-embellished oath across his mead hall. "Zounds and keee-rackatoa! Who are you?"

"Shirley Sparklewind, FGM, at your service," said his suddenly-arrived and garishly sequined visitor. "Your cousin Frank sends his regards, and asked me to tell you he is on his way."

"I'm amazed you got through. That bastard Tyrant has put a magicks dampening spell on my lands. Without magic, there's bugger all we can do against an army. At first I flew around roasting them," - he smiled grimly at the memory - "and then the pricks started taking hostages. They've breached the Western Wall by using my subjects as shields, the cowards!"

 "Anti-magic magicks, is it? Hmm," mused Shirley. "And these are the young women who've started this war, then?"

 It was, indeed - beyond a crowd of dismayed denizens of Dryadia all hoping the Dragon could save them, our girls stood together, wearing rather pretty frocks borrowed from some of Dick's harem (which group included a number of his previously rescued sacrifices). Rose bristled at Shirley's comment. "It wasn't our fault!"

 "I'm sure it wasn't. Still, you won't mind helping us set it right, now would you." Delivered in Shirley's unusually deep voice, it didn't sound like a question.

 "Of course not - but what can we do?"

 "You'll be amazed. The Tyrant's wizard has used a powerful spell, to be sure - but it only works because the magic hereabouts is mostly all diffused - spread around, like. By good chance, I just happen to have a concentrated dose of the stuff." She flourished her wand, which was not, in the event, four tied together. It was clearly supercharged, though, and threw random sparks across the hall. "I think I can transfer some of my power, along with a tiny bit of juice from everyone in the land, and put it ... there!"

 She snapped her wand in the direction of Rose, Violet and Daisy. Instead of the usual Fairy Godmother type tinkling flash, a powerful bolt of lightning crashed across the hall and lifted the three off the floor. But, instead of tumbling back to the flagstones, they hung in the crackling air, glowing - with their arms and legs spread wide, their hair standing straight up and their borrowed dresses literally smouldering.

 Suddenly, the entire hall was awhirl with faintly glowing motes, as though the still-bright light had lit up the dust (which to some extent it had, since 'mead hall' and 'dusting' are mutually exclusive concepts). It seemed to come in from everywhere, building to a dense, glowing cloud centered on the girls.

 Their clothing was soon blazing, but they seemed not to notice. Their bodies could be seen to be changing, too - already ample hips and breasts were enlarging sufficiently to blow apart the last of their tattered garments, sending flaming fragments to the floor. And the dancing sparks of magical essence were now seemingly being sucked into their bodies - their lips and labia glowed red, like iron in the forge, as though from the heat of the passing energy.

 "Whoa!" said Ribbontongue.

 "Not bad, if I do say so," agreed Shirley.

 As the crowd watched in fascination, the girls slowly settled onto their bare feet, and the glow faded until they were left with the faintest of auras. Their now voluptuous forms gleamed with sweat, as though from enormous exertion. Or possibly from lust - their oversized nipples were stiff and long, and their puffy lips, above and below, were still bright carmine.  One could see a hint of powerful muscles rippling just below their new padding, and their original attributes were intensified. For example, Daisy's freckles remained brighter than ever, but they could be seen to roam around her body. Just now they seemed to be favouring the inside of her wide-set thighs. And - like both the others - her hair was longer, and was curled and piled majestically, where normally you'd expect a wild tangle.

And then, of course, there was the matter of the new, leathery wings sprouting from their backs. These were much smaller than those of the dragon, indeed they seemed to be so small as to be simply decorative.

"Death angels," said a voice, nervously.

"Morrígna," said another, nearer to Shirley.

"Fucking gorgeous," said a third. Clothing was purely optional in Dryadia, although most folks favoured your diaphanous gown or the over-one-shoulder-check-out-my-tit toga look (these being pretty much randomly distributed between sexes and races). Beauty was in no short supply, either - gargoyles and trolls notwithstanding. But these three creatures were definitely outstanding.

"Not angels, or goddesses," said The Godmother. There was no gainsaying the third comment. "But close enough. Lust Sorceresses. Shape shifters, too." If I got it right, she thought. "Should be just the ticket." Actually, she had no idea what they could do - or if they could even harness their powers. At least Frank and Jerry were on their way, and should show up in a day or two. "How do you feel, my dears?"

Daisy spoke first. "I FEEL ..." She stopped abruptly, surprised at both the power and timbre of her voice. When the echoes subsided, she notched it back and tried again. "I feel amazing!"

Violet tugged on her heel and said, "You do realize you're floating six feet off the ground, right?"

Daisy flapped her arms without effect, beyond a pleasing counterpunctual bobbing of her newly enlarged breasts. The handful of freckles still hanging around her chest swirled around their pillowy surfaces, creating an effect like snow-globes in reverse. Her friends pulled her downward, although in truth neither of them were quite grounded, either.

"I feel it too," said Rose. "Maybe I should have believed in Fairy Godmothers sooner."

"No time like the present," said Shirley. The trio were already eying up Dick's dick; it was time to get them on the job. "All you really have to do is get out there, and fix this. Remember my motto - 'Make Lust, Not War'!" Not bad for the spur of the moment, she thought.

"Speak for yourself," muttered Ribbontongue. Dragons tend to be old-school about such things.

Shirley had been right - each of the girls had been visualizing that monster cock inside herself. But her comments brought them around enough to be willing to postpone that pleasure (and work out a schedule between them). It was Rose's idea to join hands before announcing, "Unto the breach!" It was a phrase she had read somewhere - before the Tyrant had usurped power, Gridiron had not scrapped with anyone for many a year. She suspected that it was somehow out of context, in some way.

 Regardless, the result was immediate - they shot up, circled the hall once, and then zipped out the great doors and launched off in what they hoped was the right direction. There was a cheer and a smattering of applause at the impressive exit. 

~~~

They were, in fact, going in the right direction - magically, of course - to the nearest mayhem wrought by the Tyrant's men. Rose recognized them as a platoon of recently hired mercenaries - hard men, and not necessarily in a good way. They were well ahead of the rest of the army, pushing toward Ribbontongue's capital (such as it was) through one of the last major barriers in their path: the Western Fire Swamp. Even mosquitoes the size of bats - big bats - and considerable numbers of the traditional R.O.U.S. had not sufficed to slow their progress.

 Our sorceresses found themselves coming to a stop some fifty feet over the oblivious soldiers.

 "What will it be?" asked Violet.

 "How about," answered Daisy, "we make forty brownies?" - flash!

 "How about twenty boy pixies and twenty girl brownies?" suggested Rose. - flash!

 "How about twenty two-headed brownies, each with cocks and tits and pussies?" was Violet's trump. - flash!

 Luckily, even a two-headed brownie can outrun a R.O.U.S. (Also luckily, they did not find themselves to be several twenty-two headed brownies, which probably couldn't outrun anything.)

The girls took time out from their project to watch the pack of double-noggin hermaphrodite brownies as they struggled free of their human-sized gear and clothing to scramble back to slightly firmer shores. Once there they proceeded to fornicate in a single, exceedingly complicated mass. It was something like Gridironian mud wrestling, run amok.

 "Well, that's something you don't see every day," said Rose.

 "You shoulda worked the ports for a while," answered Violet.

 "Makes me hot for more," Daisy decided. "Let's see what we can find." No sooner said than done, and they were flying off over the forest. "Shouldn't we have to flap our wings?" she added. With a little concentration she managed to flutter hers, so as to at least create the impression that they were of service.

 "More to the point, why do you both have feathery wings, now, and mine are still leathery?" asked Daisy. Some of her freckles swirled out onto her wings for emphasis.

 "Probably because you were still thinking about that dragon and his cock," said Violet.

 "Well, yours make you look like a raven, so there!"

 "Relax girls - I think Violet is right. Whatever we imagine seems to happen," said Rose.

 Violet pointed down. "Well, what do we imagine is in store for them?"

 Below was a troop of mounted rangers - light horsemen armed with bows, probing around the swamp, and riding as fast as the open forest would permit. These were Sir Phillip Boffin's men - part of the token, pre-tyrant forces. They were basically a hunting and riding club for rich boys, now well out of their depth. Although these lads were misguided (and deeply dim) the girls could see that they were not evil, per se - nothing, certainly, that a little magic couldn't fix. Why not transform them into honest citizens of Dryadia?

 "I think," suggested Daisy, "that I'd like a centaur or three to play with. Violet was right about that much, at least - I could use a sizable cock just now." Hastily, she added, "In me, not on me!" - flash!

 This time, things moved more slowly. Saddle straps unfastened themselves, and the riders tumbled to the ground. Immediately, they started madly tossing away weapons and clothing as though the stuff was suddenly too hot to bear. Having hauled off the last scraps of undergarments they imagined to be scalding, they then felt an odd compulsion to climb back on their mounts.

The melding began immediately, and even the authors of it thought the sight to be unsettling.

"Ugg - let's speed this thing up," said Rose. - flash!

 The result was a herd of centaurs, the minds (and other assorted bits) of each man and his mount having been combined to form one of the randy creatures.

 "Look up," shouted one. "Bodacious maidens!" Their sudden and impressive cock-stands were almost audible (excepting the case of their leader, who had happened to be riding a powerful mare). Centaurs like fucking even more than eating a nice, crispy apple or carrot.

 "That's more like it!" said Daisy, who had long harboured a secret fantasy involving horse cocks.

 "Enough for all of us," agreed Violet.

 "More than enough," suggested Rose. - flash! She provided the leader of the group below them with a curvaceous top half to match her bottom.

 Still in charge, although with no clear recollection of how she and her companions had come to be standing where they were, Sir Phillip - now the freshly minted centauress Phillipa - cut to the chase and called up to the sorceresses: "You there! My lads would love to pleasure you, if you'd care to come down and join us! Except Ajax and Achilles - boys, I believe I could use your talents over here."

Ajax promptly mounted his now comely boss in the usual horsy way (or doggy, if you prefer) - and human too , since he was also nibbling her neck and fondling her bouncing tits from behind. For her part, Phillipa was free to tongue wrestle with Achilles.

Although Rose and the others were on a tight schedule, what with only having got started dealing with the Tyrant's forces, it seemed only polite to help these centaur lads - and lass - get used to their new life. They fluttered, after a fashion, down to the eager herd below.

Daisy already had a plan. She sat on the rump of one of the herd, and lay back, spreading her bat-wings to balance herself (along with a firm request to the owner of said rump to reach back and hold her tight if he wanted a turn later). The nearest hopeful caught on and reared up to mount the cunny invitingly offered directly atop his comrade's tail. Violet and Rose paused to see how this would work out. The answer was, quite well, thank you. The creature's yard sank to the hilt inside their friend - they could see the impossible bulge of it as it drove past her midriff and into her chest.

 With a glance at each other, the girls hustled to find their own lover to play with. Violet swooped under a likely prospect nearby and mounted him belly to belly, having enlarged her black-feathered wings greatly to help drive herself home.

As for Rose, she selected a handsome young horse-man and nuzzled his broad chest, while he groped her boobies; then she quickly skooched under him to lick the tip of his tempting wang. (Tempting, too, was her butt - one of her beau's buddies knelt down alongside to kneed it.) She decided to experiment with sliding her lips around the leathery cockhead.

It didn't occur to her how unnaturally easy that went until the creature's stiff yard had plunged down her throat and onward into her chest. She promptly swivelled around until she was belly-upward like Violet, only with her nose stopped up against velvety horse scrotum. the bum-groper now helpfully supported her rear end, although the shaft inside her was so deep and hard she wasn't sure that was necessary.  

~~~

Meanwhile, back in Grid, the Tyrant's ally (or his hired henchman, depending on whom you asked) felt a Disturbance in the M-Force. He was Memphistopheles the Blues, Wicked Wizard Extraordinaire, and decidedly not at your service. It was he who had created the Magicks Dampening Field over Dryadia, and he was acutely aware that an enormous burst of magic had nonetheless broken through, followed by a series of smaller aftershocks. He was quite certain that no creature in the dragon's domain could have done this.

 He stroked his obligatory beard and glowered. "Merde," said the wizard; then he crossed his tower chamber to open a tall cabinet. A slinky (if slightly shabby) black creature leaped out at him - too big to be a moggy, too small for a panther. "Bugger off," he added.

 "Only doing my job, aren't I?" grumbled the cat, sulkily. She licked her genitals by way of dismissing him.

 "Whatever," the wizard said. "Take the rest of the day off."

 Without looking up, the cat changed and grew until a slim (and extremely flexible) young woman was hunched on his rug making slurping sounds. Just as when in the form a cat, she sported a few random scars and short spiky black hair; her various tattoos had only become apparent as her fur had disappeared.

 "Before I change my mind," he suggested.

 She rose and stretched sinuously, lifting her arms and pulling back her elbows. The effect of this was to thrust her pert little breasts directly at her employer. Gazing at him with her head tipped slightly, she began to finger and twist her nipples. Having gotten no appreciative response, she used her rough tongue to lazily dab a drop of pussy juice off her cheek, then shrugged and lifted a black bustiere and skirt from a hook inside the cabinet door. Dangling them negligently over her bare shoulder, she turned and sashayed out his door.

 "Katsky. Wait."

 The girl stopped, but didn't turn. Her bare bum wriggled slightly as though an invisible tail was lashing. She had been born a shape shifter, but Memphisto had no more idea than anyone else what had been her original form. Probably cat - sometimes she seemed to forget and wander around with long whiskers and a tail, or with a short nap of fur all over - but he didn't really care. It was enough that she was in his thrall, and would (mostly) do his bidding.

 "I have sensed something odd happening in the fields of our victories in Dryadia. You are to fly over the battle and report what you see."

 She turned, her head again tipped to one side and her green eyes questioning. Something odd? Then another shrug, and she handed him her clothes, even as wings grew from her back. These she flexed as far as was possible in the narrow hallway; then she folded them, crossed his chamber and jumped easily up to the sill of a tall casement window. "As you wish," she said, over her shoulder - it was the first time she had used her husky voice since she had changed from her cat form - then she pushed the leaded glass window open and leaped.

The wizard heard her wings snap wide as she caught the wind. Still irritated at her cheek, he hung her clothes back in the closet, then pushed aside a shrunken head (which winked at him) and pulled out a glowing crystal ball. Time to take that look and find out what in hells was going on in the dragon's lands.

 ~~~

Rose paused in mid-gulp as a probing gust of chill wind blew dust across her flanks. Just for a fraction of an instant the magicks faltered, and she felt the terrible pressure of an throbbing horse cock where it couldn't conceivably fit. Then it passed, but she and her new sisters had sensed the touch of a probing power that had tried to overcome Shirley's gift.

Even so, they finished off  their oblivious lovers. Those in line, however, would have to wait for another day. The skirmishes were over - it was time for the battle. They flew low (although unsaid, they were concerned about another sudden loss of magic), in the direction of the Tyrant's remaining forces.

At the nearly same moment as the sorceresses felt the Wizard's touch, Katsky was flying along the Western (or as Gridiron saw it, Eastern) Wall. With her black wings, she looked much like Violet (but skankier); but, for the sake of discretion - this being a reconnaissance mission - she had some time before transformed herself into a raven. While Daisy had accused Violet of looking like such a bird, Katsky could pass for the real deal ... if ravens were five feet tall.

 She glanced back, and saw a faint shimmer in the air, which approached rapidly along a front perhaps a quarter mile wide. It seemed to weave as it came, as though seeking something, and when the edge of it swept by her, it felt like a blow. She felt herself shifting, reverting back to her true form - one that did not come equipped with wings. Briefly, she glided, and then she tumbled.

Also at roughly the same moment, back at Ribbontongue's Mead Hall, there was a commotion as an unfamiliar dragon swooped through the tall doorway. He was immediately followed by what looked to be a demon - a man-shaped creature fitted with huge bat wings and a long tail. This second arrival had a pretty young woman riding on his back, who was wearing goggles and scarf, and a scanty silken dress which was bunched up around her waist to expose lovely tanned flanks.

"Frank! Jerry! And Karen?" Shirley the godmother sounded confused. "How did you get here so soon?"

Frank dusted off his wings. "We've been flying for two days," he said.

"With connections," muttered the Princess Karen, while rubbing her reddened bum. "We had to stop-over in Spurn and Magnolia for food and sleep. And salve."

"But ..." Shirley shut her mouth abruptly. To be sure, she had spent longer playing with her sisters than she'd intended, but their fortress-cottage was tucked out of time's reach . Of course, there was then the need to select the right time for re-entry. She'd always had a problem with that. "You made better time than I'd hoped," she lied.

"Right," said Ribbontongue. "Glad to have you here! Time enough for proper greetings and a flagon or two of restorative mead, all round, then we're off for a little roasting." He clapped the backs of his cousins, then gave Karen a warm embrace.

"Erm," said Karen. "Good to meet you, Lord Richard ..."

 She broke off, startled by the fact he was now lifting her bodily into the air - and more so when he lodged the tip of his sizable (and singularly twisty) cock into her panty-free pussy.

 She was mostly familiar with dragon customs (and dragon phalluses), but had quite forgotten the traditional introductory fuck between new in-laws. For one thing, the only occasion it had previously come up (as it were) was when she'd had a formal, and rather exciting, tumble with her father-in-law.

 So, as welcome as it was - she had always been a randy bint - she tried to stall. "What a lovely thingie you have, Uncle! But shouldn't we be ... Ooh! Ooh!"

 The shape of Ribbontongue's wang was such that he had begun to twist the girl (clockwise, as it happened) to lodge her onto it. Without thought, she folded up her legs to assist the process.

 "Um," she assayed. She had made one full rotation, and a foot of dragon dong was now inside her. "We stopped over the pass, for a breather, see - oh! - and Frank had a chat with that Earl of  - oooh! - Anchovy." She was continuing to rotate, and it was obvious that the entire crowd was watching the proceedings intently. "He said something about a weakening of the - oh, yeaah! - magicks, here." She waved her arms to emphasis that 'here' meant the whole of Dryadia, but the second foot worth of cock was now inside her, and she seemed to have trouble stopping her arms from pinwheeling about.  As still more throbbing (and scaly) flesh sank home, another fleeting thought crossed her mind. "Why didn't we - my Gods! - have much trouble flying into ... foocking glurckkkle ..."

 Whatever she was going to say was lost as the first blast of dragon-cum forced its way up her throat, rather closely followed by the emerald tip of Ribbontongue's lordly phallus. The assembled audience once more began to clap at this latest impressive spectacle.

 Shirley, slightly miffed at being upstaged, fielded Karen's liquefied question. "Most folk hereabout are born magical - the dampening spell doesn't harm them directly. But they can't perform magic." She pointed up at the beams that held up the roof. Rows of tiny faces looked glumly down. "See? Those little fayrie wings can't actually flap fast enough to fly. Now, Frankie and your Jerry there - those are serious wings. And you, my dear, are your mother's daughter. Whatever changes I made to your mother, you inherited."

 Karen blushed prettily - a lovely contrast to the great green knob projecting from her lips. Shirley had retrofitted her already horny mother so as to permit her to take on all comers - so to speak. She, Karen, had been born to be a relentless repository (or occasionally conduit) of sperm.

 "So. You are stable, as it were, but the magicks I've done could be undone, if the spell was strong enough. Luckily, your mother-in-law suggested I come here with the borrowed powers of my four sisters." (Edna had left her wand fully charged over the mantlepiece of the FGM cottage/fortress for just such an emergency).

Their host ran his talons affectionately through Karen's hair. Still impaled on his twisty one-eyed monster (which continued to peep out her mouth), the girl's arms and legs hung limply now that her orgasms had subsided. "And glad we all are for it, er, Mistress Sparklewind. Drink up, me hearties, and then we will see what help we can give our new Lust Sorceresses," he said, hopefully. Seeing the blank looks from his relatives (Karen included), he added, "Sexual carnage. Shirley's idea - she can fill you in while we quaff."

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