Authors: Anya Richards
To Phillip, with all my love. We’re not perfect, but we’re perfect for each other.
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a prince who, everyone agreed, lived a charmed life.
“So beautiful,” cooed his mother the queen, examining her winsome baby boy. And the prince grew ever more handsome as the years passed.
“So strong,” said the king with pride, watching his son approach adulthood, learn the knightly skills and excel in them all. Soon challengers were coming from other kingdoms, hoping to be the one to unseat the prince in the joust, best him at the royal tourneys. But none could.
“So fascinating,” whispered the ladies and their maids and all the women right down to the cook’s helper, who could only sigh with longing when the prince paused to speak to her.
“Such a lover,” thought the women the prince bedded, too tired to actually say anything after he was finished satisfying their every need—even ones they didn’t realise they had.
So it was that the prince, handsome and strong, witty and virile, began to believe all was right in his world—that he did, indeed, live a charmed life. And that enchantment, wherever it came from, whoever bestowed it, would protect him from all harm.
“No need to worry,” he told his mother with a smile when she remonstrated with him for practising his sword-craft without even a gambeson for protection.
“Do not fret,” he whispered to his latest conquest on hearing her father’s footsteps in the next room, just before swinging out of her bedroom window, three stories above the ground.
“Pish,” he retorted, albeit under his breath, when the king decreed it was too dangerous for the prince to go hunting without escort as he was wont to do.
Before anyone realised what was happening, the prince slipped away through the postern gate and strode out into the forest, bow and quiver slung across his back.
Bearing in mind his father’s decree—and even though past his twenty-fifth summer, still inclined to filial rebellion—the prince went deep into the woods to elude pursuers. Soon he was far away from the castle and paused to listen, holding perfectly still so as to catch even the faintest sound of hare or hart, bird or boar. As he stood there, shaded by the drooping branches of a mighty pine, there was a sudden scramble of sound, a flash of movement, and a white doe and red stag bounded across the path ahead.
“Tally-ho,” whispered the prince to himself, taking his bow to hand, excited by the stag’s massive antlers. “Tally-ho.”
Swiftly and silently he gave chase, following the beat of hooves, the bent branches and flattened brush giving testament to the animals’ flight. Once he glimpsed them ahead, the milk-white doe having hidden in a small copse, the stag pacing back and forth to scent her position. Then the doe broke from the trees, and the stag gave chase once more.
Finally the sounds of pursuit ceased, and the prince crept forward to see the doe standing in the underbrush at the side of a grassy hollow, wild bracken and vines tangled about her legs. Triumphant, the stag paced forward, lowering its head as it pawed the ground. When it proudly reared on its hind legs, the prince had to suppress a gasp, for the beast was in full rut.
Slowly, with the utmost care, the prince reached over his shoulder for an arrow. His fingers had just touched the fletch when a voice—sweet and sultry as a summer’s day, musical, rife with magic—said, “Well caught, my darling. What prize will you claim of me, although I believe I already know the answer?”
The prince’s gaze swung from the stag to the voice’s origin in astonishment. Where just moments before there had been a doe, now stood a woman of such rich and bountiful beauty the very breath was stolen from his lungs. Hair of moonlight hues waved around her perfect oval face, tumbling in a shining cloak to her waist. Full breasts, deliciously tipped with deep-peach nipples, peeked out from between the curls. Lower fell his avid gaze, devouring the curves of belly and hips, the plump mound between her thighs. Around her slender, shapely legs now twined flowering vines instead of bracken, the blossoms nodding and brushing against the pale, almost translucent flesh.
Entranced even through his shock, the prince lowered his hand to his side as his cock stirred, rising to press against the front of his breeches.
A deeper voice rang, filled with authority and lust combined.
“The chase is but a prelude to love, my sweet queen, as well you know. I will exact my payment kiss by kiss, touch by touch, until your screams of pleasure dwindle to a mere whisper for mercy.”
The stag was now a tall, muscular man with gleaming red hair falling to broad golden shoulders, and an erection as noteworthy as that of the stag. Strutting forward with all the assurance and power of a king, he waved his hand, and more vines fell from the tree above to capture the woman’s wrists and pull them skyward.
“Oh,” breathed the Faery Queen, for of course that was who she was. “You are a cruel beast, Your Majesty. How am I to give you satisfaction if I cannot move?”
But the Faery King merely laughed and grasped his massive cock in one strong hand as he replied, “My satisfaction is assured, particularly when you cannot move.”
The queen moaned and rocked her hips in enticement as her husband slowly brought his fist forward from the base of his erection toward the tip. The action made the already massive cock grow even thicker and longer, so it stood straight up along the rippling muscles of the king’s belly.
The prince knew he should leave rather than linger to spy on the king and queen of the faery folk at their love-play, but the scene before him was so seductive he could not force his feet to move.
“Just a moment more,” he thought, cupping his own distended prick through his clothes, causing it to ache with greater intensity. “Just a few little minutes more, then I will away.”
Still stroking himself, the king gestured with his other hand, and the vines holding his wife’s legs moved outward, spreading her thighs wide.
The prince gasped silently as the silver-gilt hair shielding her cunny parted, revealing a glimpse of the dewy pink flesh within.
“Beautiful,” growled the Faery King, stepping closer so as to gently sweep his wife’s hair back behind her shoulders. Now her nipples were almost cherry-red, peaked and tight with desire. “I think I will take my time examining your splendour before I do anything else. Perhaps I should pleasure myself first, so as to ensure my stamina when I need it.”
The queen struggled against her bonds, crying, “You beast, you wretch! Don’t you dare to leave me hanging here while you spill your seed upon the ground.”
But the king only laughed again, and made the vines lift her knees, so she appeared to be seated on a hanging chair, with her thighs spread wide. The movement left her most intimate flesh exposed, angled so the prince could clearly see the full outer and delicate inner lips, the pulsing clitoris. Even her sweetly puckered anus was revealed to his eager gaze. Groaning silently, he pressed harder on his prick, licked his dry lips, enchanted to see the sweet dew of the queen’s desire glistening between her legs.
“Oh, but the sight of you, naked and wet with desire, is enough to make mortal or Fey lose control.” Circling around until he stood behind the queen, the king leaned forward to kiss her neck, run the tip of his tongue along one upraised arm. “Surely you know the effect you have on me?”
“I can have a far better effect if you let me loose, my love.”
The queen rocked her hips, setting the vines gently swinging, and the prince realised the king had his cock pressed up against her from the rear. The king’s hands appeared, encircling her body, teasing just below the heaving breasts. Seeing the strong fingers splayed over the queen’s delicate ribcage, golden skin contrasting to the milky flesh beneath, made the prince shiver. When the king’s fingers feathered higher, drawing runes and symbols of passion on the queen’s breasts, and she arched in response, wordless pleas issuing from her throat, the prince felt his testicles pulse in sympathetic delight.
“Just a little longer,” he thought, loosening the lacings on his breeches, pulling his shirt out of the way. “Just a few minutes more, then I will away.”
But he stayed and watched, growing more and more enthralled as the king’s finger slipped along his wife’s now rose-blushed cunny, teasing the plump clitoris, plunging into her channel until she cried for more and more.
And he watched that finger slide away to return from below and, using the queen’s own juices to ease the way, slowly enter the little anus. The king’s other hand plucked and rubbed the straining flesh above, and the queen screamed and writhed with delight, sending petals fluttering from the blossoms to dance in the air around them.
And he stayed, marvelling, as with a gesture the king caused the vines holding his wife to invert her body, until she hung upside down. She was now facing her husband, who thrust his leonine head between her thighs, as the queen engulfed that massive phallus with her mouth. Shivering, holding his cock tight so as not to spill his seed, the prince trembled to hear the sounds of that mutual kissing, the muffled cries, strangled sighs and groans.
And still he could not move, even as the last of the queen’s bonds gently fell away, and her husband scooped her into his embrace. She wrapped her legs around the king’s muscular buttocks, twining her arms around his neck and melting into the passion of his kiss. With a growl of conquest, the king thrust his rampant cock deep into her, and they both cried out in one voice with relief. Writhing together, hips connecting in perfect harmony, they stood in the middle of the clearing, and gossamer wings emerged from between their shoulders.
Still joined in passion, kissing, hands caressing and stroking and squeezing, they rose toward the sky. Sunlight caught the iridescent wings, which beat in frantic counterpoint to the ever more frenzied coupling. Looking up, the prince could clearly see the king’s cock stroking into the queen’s cunny, faster and faster, harder, deeper.
It was too much for a mere mortal to take, for the magic of the moment was overwhelming, and as the king and queen shouted their release, so did the prince find his own. His orgasm overcame him. The seed rushed up from his pulsating ballocks and out in relief-laden spurts. Closing his eyes in ecstasy, the prince knew he would remember this day to the end of his life, and perhaps even beyond.
“What have we here?” The cold haughty voice shocked the prince out of his lust-haze, and his eyes flew open to see the Faery Queen standing before him, sparks of anger gleaming in her sky-blue gaze. “A Peeping Tom—entertaining himself by skulking behind trees and spying on the unwary.”
“Shall I strike him blind or dead, my love, for daring to watch us?”
The king’s voice came from behind him, and a shiver of dread climbed the prince’s spine. How stupid to have courted mortal danger by not doing what was right and leaving them to their play.
The years of knightly training awoke inside, and the prince reached for his dagger, tried to sidestep away, hoping to gain a more strategic position.
He could not move.
No matter how he strained and struggled, his body refused to so much as twitch.
“No,” replied the queen in that icy voice. “He likes to watch, to see what others are doing, so I say let him be a silent witness.” Her voice fell to a low croon, and she moved forward to grasp the prince’s cock in her hand. The touch burned with arousing heat, making him instantly erect again. Under her power, he sank slowly to his knees until he rested back on his heels. “Let him stay here for a hundred years, unable to move.”
Immediately there was a strange tickling sensation, and the prince realised his body, starting at the feet, was becoming cold, immobile—like stone. Up rushed the spell through bone and muscle and sinew, until the only part he could feel was his cock, still held in the Faery Queen’s hand. Inside he fought, trying still to break free, but the Fey punishment was intractable.
“One hundred years is not enough,” was the king’s response, which the prince hardly heard through the cacophony of anger and fear inundating his head. “I say let him stay here for eternity.”
The queen’s fingers tickled over the prince’s cock one last time, and she laughed. “As you wish, my love. He will make a fine adornment to this, our enchanted glade. A Peeping Tom wrought in marble.” She withdrew her hand and his erect flesh slowly turned to stone, until it matched the rest of his body.
The prince tried to say, but no words would come from his throat.
I meant no harm. Please, don’t abandon me here like this
But the king and queen of faery had already disappeared, leaving him to his fate.
Despair arose, as overwhelming as the spell cast by the queen, and the prince cried inwardly, repenting of his sin, although too late.
A rustling sound drew the prince from his misery and, to his surprise, he beheld the figure of a man emerge from the nearby trees. Tall, with a whimsical face and flowing golden hair, he approached and stood looking down at the prince, shaking his head. The faery’s long, mobile mouth was tilted in a hint of a smile, but the gleaming eyes were serious, almost sad.