Once upon a time in a land far, far away, lived a Princess. She was outspoken, brash, a bit wild for her rather staid family.
Some called her cursed, others whispered at Fae blood.
Teachers were called, but none could tame her. She learned, for she was very smart. She was coquettish, playful, sexually aggressive. After her father, the King, found her stalking her latest tutor across the room, her bodice lace in her hands, and her bosom bouncing precariously within the small confines of her dress, he threw up his hands in dismay.
“I cannot take any more from you, Rapunzel!” He cried. His hair, in truth, was sticking up every which way, his crown askew. The tutor had fled the scene.
Rapunzel carelessly stuffed the lace around her bodice, paying scant attention to her ‘fuddy duddy daddy’.
“Oh Daddy, you’re being *such* an old fuddy-duddy!” She pouted, tilting her head coyly and blinking her big blue eyes at him.
He scowled. The eye blink would not work this time, he vowed.
“I can see that I have spoiled you beyond all reason,” he stated, his voice sad, and heavy.
“You will therefore be sequestered, daughter, until you learn manners, or until someone comes along who is willing to put up with your behavior, and marry you.”
The king turned to his chamberlain who hovered just outside the schoolroom door.
“Call the Chief Woodsman.” Turning back to his daughter, who was now staring at her father openmouthed, he shook his head.
“You have brought this on yourself. I sincerely hope you learn a new lesson today.”
She wanted to fight, to cause a monumental scene. Instead, she played the tragic heroine, sniffing bravely and wiping a tear from her cheek with her silk scarf.
She bid farewell to her Ladies, to her dog, to the housestaff, as she was led to the rustic carriage that would transport her to her new abode.
The carriage was not well-sprung, and by the time the princess’ coach had stopped to rest the horses, she was sore, and in bad humor.
She confronted the Chief Woodsman.
“You,” she gestured peremptorily towards him. “Come here and attend me.”
He stalked over to her and slapped her cheek firmly.
“Princess, you need a lesson in manners, and I’m the only one here to do it. Shut the fuck up. Now go to that stream and fetch a pail of water and help me take care of these horses who have pulled this fucking piece of shit carriage through these woods.”
She stood, her mouth open in shock, her hand on her cheek. She had never been struck before. He stood staring at her a moment, his eyes dark, his face calm. He thrust the bucket at her.
She never knew, later, why she listened to him. She should have hurled the bucket at him, scratched his eyes out. Something.
Instead, she gathered her skirts, and took the bucket to the stream. Filling it, she almost tumbled in, but he was suddenly, quietly, behind her, steadying her. His hands rested firmly on her hips, and she felt an unwilling, yet undeniable, surge of lust betwixt her thighs.
She scooped up water, knowing that He would not let her fall…this time. She heaved the suddenly much heavier bucket up, and with two hands fisted on the handle, waddled with it towards the horses.
He stood and watched. He *could* have offered to carry the heavy bucket, but no. She shot a sideways glance at him as the first horse drank from the bucket. She didn’t even notice the splashes on the front of her gown, so lost in her perusal of this man was she.
If he saw her gaze, he ignored her. She used that opportunity to study him. What exactly caused her pussy to flow sweet honey when he was holding her hips? To be sure, she didn’t heat up for any man. She flirted aplenty, but never until now had her own body reacted to the erotic pull of a man.
**so, dear reader…dost continue? **