Cinderella - an Erotic Fairy Tale II: Adventures in Dryadia

By Cordelia Speedicut

Note - for the benefit of those (including the author) who are loosing track of the characters introduced both in the previous instalment (Cinderella - an Erotic Fairy Tale, naturally) and the new romance below, a Cast List has been provided at the end of this story.

Part 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 ... .

 The 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.

Eventually, they would further discover that every female present was pregnant - such are the effects of fooling about with faeries and their friends.

Luckily for them, the Stickleback Mountains isolated the Earl’s territory from not only Gridiron but pretty much everyone else. They were always warmly welcomed there, and joined the seriously unrestrained locals in frolicking, fucking, and cultivating hops and hemp - the excess of which was traded for various goods (particularly munchies) from Erewon to the west and Portia to the east.

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 the marble angel tits!"

 The passage was there, 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's 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 that 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.

 Soon they were galloping for the uncertain protection of the dreaded Dragon Ribbontongue.

~~~

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, beyond which 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 blond locks were now a frightening tangle. Violet and Daisy looked at her in surprise - more in regard to the princess thing 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 resident. 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 a 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.

Part Two

 The challenges of surfing Space-Time; wandering Freckles, truly Radiant lips, and Sorcery for beginners; R.O.U.S. and Centaur sex; Wizardry, the Blues, and a hot Kat; Carnal Greetings and Sexual Carnage.

 
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, 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 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 counter punctual 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 clothes 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 was 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 - and human (or doggy if you prefer), 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 their number, 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 centaur 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." (This included that of Edna's wand which was stored, fully charged, in the rack over the fireplace, along with the others.)

 "Let's not put that to the test, shall we?" Their host ran his talons affectionately through Karen's hair. Still impaled on his one-eyed monster (which continued to peep out her mouth), the girl's arms and legs hung limply now that her orgasms had subsided. "Drink up, me hearties, and then we will see what help we can give our new Lust Sorceresses." Seeing the blank looks from his relatives (Karen included), he added, "Sexual carnage. Shirley's idea - she can fill you in while we quaff."

Part Three

Peckerheads and Trolls; flashing memories of a Blacksmith and Two-Backed Beasts; a Crystal Ball and a Mind-Fuck; Men of the War Wang; More Blues; fellating in the Knocked-up Bride; the Goddess of Burlesque (Hubba hubba); Butterflies and Rhinos; the Kat Came Back;  a Triumph of Lust.

 
As the lovely, lusty agents of sexual carnage - that is to say, Rose, Violet and Daisy - approached the advancing forces of the Tyrant, they saw the shimmer they had been too preoccupied to notice earlier. "That's probably bad," opined Violet. Although they had no idea of its source, they guessed it was the force that had tried to take away their powers.

 "We'd better get started, then," said Rose.

 "My goodness," said Daisy, looking at the troops massed below. "There are certainly a lot of them!"

Hands joined, they concentrated both their thoughts and their energy. They began to glow again, as the magic the fairy godmother had harvested from all over the land crackled around them ... and then the full force of Dryadia's distilled lust lashed out across the plain.

As this newest wave swept over them, the hapless soldiers transformed randomly into various remarkable forms, both Fauna and, occasionally, Flora. Centaurs, being fresh on the Sorceresses' minds, were common. But so too were nubile nymphs - naiads, dryads and all the sundry other varieties of blushing, budding, come-hither sprite/maidens - plus countless satyrs to service them all. Which they promptly did, once they had managed to catch the teasing young things and unwrap them of their tattered, ill-fitting remnants of uniform.

Some of these newly minted girls, gloriously naked, led their sex-crazed pursuers a merry chase, being mounted on horses now became unicorns or on great, galloping, four-legged penises. Others, soaring astride equally huge flying phalluses, had discovered that the row of knobby spines on the backs of these creatures were perfect for penetrating their pretty pussies - plus keeping them in the saddle, as it were, as they swooped and shrieked merrily about. And one or two plump lasses simply let themselves be caught and violated by a flock of peckerheaded geese, whose flexible necks and beakless knobs were the perfect height for the task.

Some invaders became horny elves or randy bearded dwarves (of both sexes, or in hermaphroditic combinations thereof). Others found themselves, no doubt deservedly, in the form of quite monstrous creatures: aroused golems, tumescent trolls and troglodytes, big-breasted lamiae, and even a few Medusa babes - whose hair seemed not so much to writhe as to fornicate. The latter could not actually turn anyone to stone, but were sufficiently beautiful, snakes notwithstanding, to make nearby satyrs extremely hard.

Likewise, there were some who'd become succubae and incubi (these being rather plump and lazy given the abundance of excess sexual energy to be harvested); and a good number more had taken root ... and were now flowering shrubberies that could entangle, entwine and impregnate any female that passed near enough.

And everywhere overhead, newly formed fairies and flying phalluses fluttered, all fornicating together in tumbling, humping flocks. As they swirled around the hovering Lust Sorceresses (along with a few local putti who seemed to have been attracted to all the commotion), Rose summed up her assessment of the scene. "Well," she said. "That seems to be an improvement!"

~~~

Meanwhile, Katsky crawled onto the muddy bank of the lake into which she had plummeted, thanks to the same force that baffled the Sorceresses ... launched, she knew, by her employer - the wizard Memphisto. She was surprised to discover how soft water wasn't, when greeted at speed, albeit still preferable to the alternative (i.e. not water). Also surprising was that her life had actually, and as advertised, flashed before her eyes on the way down:

 The slideshow of doom began with the day she'd first started to shapeshift, and her mother's consternation at dealing with her young daughter slipping from one form into another. Initially, kittens and puppies had predominated, but soon (thanks to her picture books) she'd started to broaden her horizons.

The second memory was of the first time her mother had fitted her with a collar and leash when they went for their walk, having tired of trying to lead home a small zebra or tiger or ostrich. Of course, when transformed she was still Katsky inside, but she couldn't help herself from capering or whirling or growling - depending on how she guessed such creatures might behave.

 Next was the occasion she'd discovered how fiercely supportive her mother was, when Mamma had attacked the village blacksmith for a passing insult (which was deserved - Katsky had been trying out pigginess that day). Her mother had wrestled with the man, until by and by he was on his back with Mamma astride him, her hands on her belly and her skirts flapping over his hips as she humped up and down ... Oh, Katsky thought, as she fell. I'd forgotten that bit until now. At any rate, he'd always been friendly after that, and with his support the other neighbours had wisely chosen accept her. Indeed, they seemed to take a communal pride in keeping her safe and secret.

 And  then came that time, much later, when her mother finally told her how she - Katsky - had been the result of a liaison with a tall, dark and handsome stranger who had passed through their village. She had been old enough by then to suspect that he'd likely given her mother some clue in that hayloft - something which would explain Momma's relative lack of surprise with her daughter's talents. He probably fucked her like a weasel, literally, she thought. And then, because they were her parents, she'd mentally added, Ewww! At any rate (and to her mother's obvious satisfaction), he probably hadn't dallied anywhere else in Gridiron, since they were unaware of any other shapeshifters thereabouts.

 There would have been further reminiscences - she was looking forward to a replay of her own first roll in the hay with a lad (an unsuspecting and deeply shocked young fellow from the next village) - but the lake had abruptly intervened.

 Now, she lay in the mud and noted idly that three or four nearby floating logs had opened their eyes to gaze at her with interest. Crocodiles, she thought. Or are they alligators? She could never remember which was which. Slowly, she came to her senses. The wizard had fucked her over - twice. Robbing her of her ability to sustain her raven form, she knew, had not been deliberate. Friendly fire, as it were. Even though it had nearly killed her, she disregarded the offence. But robbing her of her will! For that, she would ... Her ragged line of thought was interrupted by a series of splashes - more croc-igators were joining the others from nearby banks. Time to leave.

 Although Katsky had never previously met any citizens Dryadia, she was not adverse to mix-and-match. So when she took the form of a lion, with the head and wings of an eagle, and the firm titties of a woman, she was unaware that she was effectively a gryphon (albeit a smallish one, given the whole conservation of mass issue). Her main consideration was that she could take apart Memphisto quickly, surprise him before he could use his considerable magical talents.

 With a great leap, she launched into the air, to the great disappointment of the approaching lizards (which were, as it happened, most nearly crocodiles - but were able to stand up and dance most elegantly when the mood took them). She was barely fifty feet up when she felt the wizard fuck with her mind.

~~~

As soon as he sent Katsky to check on the battle, Memphisto tuned in his crystal ball. It was not going well. The Tyrant's strategy had been simple: just a feint to right, at the South Gate - and a jump to the left, where the main force would drive through the West Gate. With the shield of the wizard’s magicks dampening spell, they would prevail.

The men were already in position when Princess Rose escaped. Since she had nowhere to go but Dryadia, this had been an unforeseen bonus. The only thing the plan lacked was justification, so the Tyrant had sent his own palace guards (Kapitän  Federwitz and his mercenary band known as the "Invincibles") to follow her, and demand her return. Regardless of the response, they were to lead an assault. He could then tell his nervous neighbours that his bride-to-be had been kidnapped by Dryadian agents for the carnal pleasure of the wicked Ribbontongue. What else could he do but invade?

But the dragon had not been grounded by the anti-magick spell, and had managed to thin out the ranks of the misnamed mercenaries, until they'd brought up the archers to drive the creature off.

And then, this very morning, things went completely off the rails. Memphisto became aware of a sudden magical resistance - he'd thought a powerful witch or demon must have been summoned. The three sorceresses he found with his orb were unknown to him, which he found alarming. So too was the speed at which they were transmogrifying the Tyrant's troops into every manner of fanciful thing, all of which had seemingly given themselves over to fucking.

 The wizard had lashed out with another strongly focussed dose of anti-magicks, and he'd felt his new foes waver briefly, but the distance was too great and his magic already spread too thin. It was embarrassing, but clearly he should have followed the army. Still, it wasn't too late - one of the tapestries in his tower room was in fact a fast flying carpet.

 Before he set off for Dryadia, he focussed his mentalist power on Katsky, unaware that she had only just cleared her mind of him. She was loaded with fresh instructions: to kill the sorceresses. While it seemed unlikely his enthralled pet would prevail, he hoped she could do some damage before she was cast down.

 A brief flash of regret crossed his mind that he had never actually fucked her - purely in an avuncular way, of course. Some of her transitional phases - half human, half other - appealed to him. A fearsome jagular-girl, say. Ears flat, tail lashing, as he gripped her velvety fur covered ass from behind and drove his  sable flesh-staff into her still pink ... Oh well, he thought. Snooze, ya lose.

 Very soon after, he was decelerating his smoking carpet as he passed over the top of Dryadia's shattered western gate. A few blasts of lightning from his best staff, he felt, should settle the whole issue. If the Tyrant had any issues with his belated victory, well, the idea of adding his potentially former employer to the body count would have some appeal.

~~~

From the battlefield in question, the mercenary Captain Hardwood was not so confident. It had begun well - he and his men had used their own battering ram, War Wang, to breach the West Gate.  With the benefit of the wizard's magicks, they had been virtually unopposed, and they'd managed to marshal the Tyrant's army of ploughboys and merchants forward. The only thing holding them back had been the endless brambles and chasms and thick forests, as if the land itself was fighting them.

 Then, a short time ago, just when they had reached open ground, an odd shimmering on the horizon had advanced on them - and nothing could be seen beyond. It was rather like an opaque sort of northern lights. Something baffling was clearly happening out there - but the only thing to emerge back through the approaching wall were naked, running girls. These invariably threw themselves, boobies bouncing, onto the nearest soldier and proceeded to 'entertain' both him and his neighbours.

 The only thing to emerge, that is, until now. In the distance to the southeast, not one but two dragons flew through, smoking like forges. These were accompanied by what, at this range, looked to be a flying demon with a wild-haired woman riding on its back. To the southwest a lion-eagle mashup was also flapping with a serious show of attitude.  When Hardwood looked behind, to the west, he saw a black-caped figure over a storm cloud - Death, seemingly, was surfing on a thunderhead. They were all headed his way.

And the light show ahead was getting close enough to hear wild shouts and shrieks from beyond, so close that he could see the mirage-like glow of three winged angels, or else ...

"Oh, My Fucking Goddesses!" he reverently swore, using the formal title of his own personal triumvirate of  Deities, clearly coming for him.

 Hardwood prided himself that his band always stayed bought for the duration of a campaign. This sort of professionalism was particularly important to him given the Tyrant had also employed his competitor, the annoying Federwitz, to provide the palace guard. Running away was never good on one's resume; on the other hand, neither was being dead, which just now seemed a distinct possibility. "Bugger," he added.

 And then the veil was lifted, and he saw his goddesses in all their fleshy glory. He also saw a litter of martial equipment being trod underfoot by a sex-mad mob of creatures, at least some of whom could be recognized as his otherwise missing army.

 "Captain!" shouted a grinning young woman. The fanged ogre which was gripping her butt and fucking her from gave him a friendly wave. "It's me, Eddie ...," she hesitated slightly, as though confused (and distracted - the ogre's tool had sunk noticeably deeper when it had loosened its hold on her ass). "Um, Edwina! Isn't this great?" She waved her arms to take in the whole rutting, spurting crowd around them.

 Dazed, he nodded. The OMFGs he worshipped had promised a huge orgy at the end of days, when everyone's carnal wishes would be granted. Corporal Jones's idea of 'great' evidently was being held off the ground and rogered fiercely. As for the rest of them, well, they certainly had more imagination than he had ever given them credit. Even he was mildly shocked at the novelty of form and function displayed.

 Case in point - he had never seen an ogre before (this particular one vaguely resembled PFC Johnson), so when the thing lifted Ed(wina) free and hoisted her over its head to lick out her draining fluids, he beheld an ogre-cock which not only flashed a toothy smile and winked ... it also lifted an arm from a groove along its side and waved at him just as its owner had. As for the rest, he hardly knew where to look next. Everything about, from pixie to plantain to pachyderm, was engaged in messy sex. Slippery, slavering, grinding, groaning, full-bodied SEX.

 As he tossed his sword, armour and clothing aside, and massaged his freed breasts, he stared wildly around. Thank you, Goddesses, Hardlywood thought, as she pulled on her fat clit and twitched her goat-like tail. Her shaggy shins seemed to dull the clop of her cloven feet as she began to stalk a nearby unicorn. The beast was tossing its head - just think how that fat, phallic-looking horn would feel once gripped inside her hungry cunt.

 Although theology can be tricky, Rose, Daisy and Violet were probably not the Captain's Goddesses. However, in the interests of expediency, they were indeed allowing the transformees' thoughts to influence their fates - so, who can say?

And as to the 'end of days', Memphistopheles the Blue had arrived. He was, to paraphrase his business card, an Extraordinarily Wicked Wizard. And he was pissed.

~~~

 The first salvo of lighting bolts took the Sorceresses by surprise, and threw them some distance. They landed, feathers singed, in a heap behind a slight rise of ground. This was sufficient to deflect the next broadside, although they were showered with dirt and stones.

The black cloud beneath Memphisto meanwhile swirled over the copulating masses and restored the troops to their original forms. More or less, at any rate - some who had been blended with their horses came back slightly scrambled (which is to say that some horses were now much smarter, and less well endowed, than previously). All were naked and confused; but luckily, thanks to the violence of the attack, no one was still inserted into a repealed orifice when the spells were undone.

As for the many Dryadians who had come to join in the fun, they were yet again stripped of their magicks, grounded and forced to scurry for cover. At this close range, this included the nearby dragons (plus Jerry). In their case, no scurrying ensued. They were obliged to walk, however, each picking up the choicest weapons from those scattered in their path. Thanks to friendly fire, as it were, Katsky once again returned to her unfortunately wingless form. As before, gliding was precluded; but this time she landed in mud.

The wizard had the upper hand once more, and he proposed to make the most of it. Lightning began to lash all about; and as trees toppled and more earth soared, his roiling smokes spread rapidly to undo all the Lust Maiden's lovingly depraved works. Even the Three had reverted to their old selves, as they quaked half-buried together in the dubious shelter of their little hill. Things were looking grim, indeed.

But ... in his hubris, Memphisto had ignored his other enemies. By this time, the dragons were nearly on the scene, Dick with a double-handed broadsword in each fist, Frank with an huge axe and a war hammer likewise, and Jerry with an evil-looking morningstar and a javelin.  The wizard was too high for any of them; not so for Princess Karen, or the equally annoyed, if dirtier, Katsky (now refocused on her ex-employer) - both had found sweet little bows, and knew how to use them.

Before they were in range, there was yet another development. Rose and Daisy and Violet had a visitation - a ghostly female form that stood beside where they currently cowered. "Get yourselves together," it said.

"Easy for you to say," replied Rose to the still nebulous figure, assuming it to be Cindy.

But it was not their FGM. As it came into focus, Violet recognized their gauzy visitor from a shrine in the Knocked-up Bride - a harbour-side tavern at which she used to work. More a bawdy house, really, and the shrine was actually more of a herm, which she would sometimes fellate to drum up business. Whatever - on the thing's side (the plinth, not its stony wang) was carved a good likeness of Ginger, patron Goddess of Dryadia and of Burlesque Dancers everywhere.

"Hubba hubba, O High and Mighty Ginger," she meekly said, using the appropriate form of address for this particular deity.

Indeed it was Ginger, who knew that if you wanted to stay Top God somewhere, a few miracles and personal appearances went a long way. "One for all, that sort of thing," she intoned.

'Los Tres Hombres Estúpidos' was a popular pageant often staged in Daisy's village (her favourite was Curley). Whoever this was, the message was clear to her. "And one for all! It might work ... focus, girls!" 

They clung tightly to one another and closed their eyes - which was just as well given the blinding flash that followed. It was not three frightened ex-sorceresses who slowly rose up from the indifferent cover of their hillock, but the single embodiment of the goddess Ginger herself: silver hair (on a single head), high cheekbones, and with her trademark of three descending sets of tasselled breasts. (It should here be said that Ginger was otherwise normal, if voluptuous. She needed only a loose sweater, a short skirt and some cute pumps to pass herself off as sexily human when she hung around earth-side with the other Gods at Charbucks - human enough, at least, that the locals could pretend to notice nothing unusual.)

The Gingerized trio were shielded by, and enhanced with, some of the Goddess's own power. This, added to their revived sorceress skills, made them a force to be reckoned with. Tassels spinning, the melded maids turned open-armed to face the wizard. Unheeding, he fired two more bolts at them - which were not merely deflected but transformed, the first into a rainbow, the second into a flight of butterflies.

That, at last, brought Memphisto up short. Nothing human, he felt, would use such power to do something so trite. This was not in his job description - even he was not prepared to go Mano-a-mano (mano-a-Deo?) with a goddess. Indeed, his first inclination was to get his rug up to warp-and-woof speed and flee non-stop to someplace far away - but how do you outrun a god?

The answer, of course, is that you don't ... however, he wasn't actually facing the real Ginger. Still, the currently amalgamated girls had enough borrowed power to release a pulse of energy back at the stunned wizard. He tumbled to the ground, luckily enough, since he thereby avoided the two arrows aimed at where his heart now wasn't. He landed hard, alive but so stunned that all his Anti-magick spell was abruptly terminated.

The result was a spectacular sight. Flights of phalli and putti returned overhead to join the mawkish butterflies, quickly followed by the other flying denizens of Dryadia - the fairies, phoenixes and Pegasuses (Pegasi?). And of course, the three dragons, who launched themselves skyward, trailing flames and smoke (and fragments of incinerated butterflies).

At the same time, those invaders magicked by the FGM sorceresses reverted to the forms they had been assigned. A great deal of celebratory fucking ensued.

Faux Ginger smiled at the carnal carnival before her/them.

"What about him?" asked Daisy, nodding at the wizard.

"Well, what do you suggest?" said Violet.

Rose had a suggestion. "I saw a beast in a menagerie once, down in Quirm, they called it a rhino-saurus. It had a horn as big as its head."

"A nose lizard? With a cock the size of its head?"

"Huh, What? Naah - here - I'll show you." <POOF>  

"Ohh - that's so sweet! He'd just about fit in your pocket!"

"If we had one! Hee hee!"

Since the girls were currently fused, those watching saw the bogus Goddess in an animated discussion with herself. Not that anyone would question the actions of a deity - at least not in those parts where an offended god had been known to indulge in a bit of hands-on smiting. When they saw Ginger abruptly transform Memphistopheles into a squirrel-sized black rhinoceros - and then laugh - everyone's first thought was, whew - better him than me.

"Bitch!", squeaked the luckless wizard. "Just kill me! Let me rejoin my pettite cochon!"

"Say what?"

"Hubba hubba, O Mighty Jiggler," offered Katsky, on her knees. "If it please you, that was his pet name for his wife whom the Gods saw fit to call home. Begging your pardon, but he's a little bitter about it."

"Jeez - you mean he was a nice guy once?"

"Um - I wouldn't go that far, O Gyrator of the Heavens. Less of an asshole, maybe."

"What do you say, My Lady? Could you pull some strings, if we promise to match them up? It would be a crowd pleaser." This was from Daisy, whose farming background gave her more familiarity with negotiating with gods.

To the crowd in question, the Goddess was observed to address this odd speech to the air over her shoulder. No answer was heard, but after a pause, there came a rather impressive flash. In the middle of the showy smoke now stood the confused shade of the wizard's late wife, shaking the dust of Hades off her incorporeal shoulders. The rhino-wizard squeaked, and with another flash the ghost shrank and solidified to become a matching pocket rhinoceros.

As the little creatures set to humping, the goddess smiled and said, "Better bred than dead!" She took an almost imperceptible bow to acknowledge the cheers, and murmured, "Thank you, My Lady."

Then, with a sweep of the arm, she dealt with the portion of the invading host not yet transformed. These gentlemen began to change into all the various and sundry horny forms that their friends now displayed, along with several novel new variations of the theme.  This included the no-longer baleful or tyrannical Alaric, who rather suited his new gargoyle self.

Mission deemed accomplished, Doppelganger Ginger waved goodbye to her faithful constituents and drifted away into the forest - where, once out of sight, the goddess undid her spell. With a quiet foop they reverted to a jumble of bodacious sorceresses in a heap on the ground. The felt slightly bereft, but retained the horniness with which the FGM had endowed them. They might have proceeded to fuck themselves silly (mostly Sapphic loving in mind, although they would soon discover further possibilities for using their shapeshifting abilities) but the real Ginger, who was frankly only phoning in her appearance, shimmered nearby. "Well, my children - that was fun, wasn't it? Now, it's party time! Shake on, dears ..."

Ginger vanished, whereupon Shirley discreetly appeared.

"Hey there", she said. "Bit of luck, that, eh? Alls well that ends well. I've just popped over to Grid. The palace guard are now pixies, and the king is back on the throne ... until he can get a more reliable prime minister voted in. I checked on the tyrant on the way over. Nice work.

Oh, and you realize most of these other doofuses have to get back home in time for harvest, right?"

Rose took a deep breath, enjoying the crackle of energy that sizzled off her restored wingtips. She looked about at the revelry all around them. Nearest was Ribbontongue, using the organ which give him his name to perform extreme cunnilingus on an oddly familiar jaguar.  Beyond them she spotted the Centauress she had met earlier. The creature - Phillipa, wasn't it? - was separated from its friends. No matter, she would see them later. She waved to get the busty half-horse's attention, then reached down to her clitoris and proceeded to pull it and stretch it and inflate it and knead it. By the time the eager Phillipa had arrived, Rose was flourishing an enormous horse cock, ready for action. Nodding to Shirley, she finally answered. "Time enough for a pretty good shidig, though."

~~~

 As the celebratory orgy proceeded, Ginger booked it back to Charbucks, having formally logged a triumph of lust - a victory not through violence (much) but by pure sexual bliss. She loved to one-up the war god. Eat that, Mars, baby, she thought. She also loved to bone him. These big-time fuckfests made her hot, and there was just something about that volcano dwelling, blacksmithing hulk that did it for her - with luck, up against the wall in the alley beside the coffee shop.

fin

CAST (speaking roles highlighted)

             Guilder

Cindy, later Princess Sindri of Erewon, later Princess Cindy of Guilder, later Queen;

Also her father; Hilda, her wicked stepmother; Her ugly stepsisters;

and later Rupert, her Horse.

 
King Charming XXII (Charming the Fairly Good) of Guilder;

Queen Audrey, his wife;

Prince Alen, later King Alen the Third, his son (also Seth, Alen's Cock);

Princess Karen, daughter of Prince Al & Cindy;

Maria, Dick, Karen and Bill, friends of Karen.

 
Shirley, a Fairy Godmother;

Also Game Edna, Florid, Fawna, and Barelyweathered, her FGM sisters; and

Pisstol, Baredolph, Pym, Fullstaff, and Mistress Speedy, her associates; and

various moggies and rodents, her raw materials for a magical night on the town.

 
Sven, one of many otherwise unnamed Blacksmiths;

Granny Abigail and Granny Gorn, Witches;

Glenna, a Lady of Negotiable Affection;

Tony, a Gentleman Who Protects and Lives off the Avails of Ladies of Negotiable Affection,     later Chief Groomsman in the stables of Queen Cindy.

Bertrand the Beggar

 
            Erewon

Flaming Lord Francis Brassballs of Erewon Valley in the Outreaches of Guilder, a Dragon (also Eric, his Cock);

Lady Trixie, his wife, daughter to the Chamberlain of Guilder; and

Jerry, their son.

 
            Dryadia

 Pyrotechnical Lord Richard Ribbontongue of the Enchanting Forest of Dryadia, a Dragon;

the Gate Keeper.

 Ginger, a Goddess.

 
            Gridiron

Alaric,  the Baleful Tyrant of Gridiron.

Memphistopheles the Blues, Wicked Wizard Extraordinaire; and

Katsky, his associate.

 
King Gustav the Twenty Third, rightful King of Gridiron;

Also Princess Rose, his daughter; Daisy, a farm Peasant; and

Violet, a Lady of Negotiable Affection. Later three Sorceresses together.

 
Sir Phillip Boffin, Corporal Ed(wina) Jones, PFC Johnson,  soldiers;

Kapitän  Federwitz and Captain Hardwood, mercenaries.