The Taming of Princess Rapunzel (2)

Part one here.

They stopped for the night in the middle of the wood, in a small clearing just off the beaten path. Rapunzel thought her ass would never be the same, jouncing and bouncing around the seat of the old carriage as she had been for the last 8 hours. She gingerly rubbed her posterior.

“I have some liniment for that,” the Head Woodsman called to her, as he unfettered the horses, and began rubbing them down.

She scowled at him. The lout! She was  a Royal Princess! liniment!? On her dainty skin? And why was that beast of a man looking at her royal arse? Crude! Oaf!

“You are an oaf.” She replied, turning her nose up and walking away.

He grabbed her by the elbow and spun her rapidly around. His large hands pincered around her narrow waist, and his scowl was ever so much more fearsome than hers was. A hard shake had her gasping aloud, and her hands grasping his forearms to steady herself.

“You are such a self-indulgent brat!” He said. Though his face was scowling, his tone remained level. This was a man in complete control. Again that annoying surge of sex juice between her sore cheeks. She tried to pull away, create some distance, but he would have none of it.

“There is only one cure for brats,” he stated, and he hefted her easily over his shoulder, striding over to where a mossy stump protruded conveniently from the forest floor.

The long rays from the lowering sun illumined the setting, gilding every tree, while dancing motes played in the spearing shafts of light. The drone of insects fell silent as he and his suddenly squealing, fighting burden entered the edge of the glade.

“Put me DOWN you big oaf!”

He dropped her to her feet, obliging her command, though she nearly fell at the suddenness of his move.

“Princess?” His smile was that of a wolf upon finding an especially succulent rabbit tangled in the brush.

“NO!” She shouted, not knowing why or how, but turning away, trying to flee as that rabbit might.

Without any effort, He grabbed her round her narrow waist, spinning her and sitting nearly simultaneously. She was laid out across his lap, his left foot standing on her long, famously luxuriant hair.

He gathered her slender wrists behind her, and using a strip of thin leather, wrapped them tightly. His other foot rested firmly on the front of her frothing skirts.

She tried to bite him, but his thick leather pants repelled her attempts to obtain a purchase with her sharp little teeth. So busy was she in her attempt so punish the brutish oaf, she failed to notice him slowly gathering the back of her skirts and raising them.

First her shapely ankles were revealed, then sweetly rounded calves. Those calves nipped down into enticingly hollowed knees, and he imagined his lips and tongue working those sweet dimples.  Her thighs were well-muscled, likely from her unladylike bareback riding, he mused.

He paused a moment.

He blinked.

Her ladyship was not wearing bloomers. Her ladyship was wearing naught but her own soft flesh upon her delightfully turned bottom.

The happy smile where her legs and ass cheeks met was inticingly shadowed. He could smell her cunt.

“The Princess is a slutty little thing,” he mused to himself, thoughtfully, as he brought his hand down sharply on her shapely rump.

“YeooooW!” she screeched, rearing up until the pull on her captive hair stopped any further forward rise.


His hand continued in steady rhythm despite her yowling protests. The horses turned to look their way, and he imagined they were smiling at her predicament as well. She had the tongue of a shrew, and he suspected they well knew it.

what will befall our bratty Princess with no pantaloons next? Will the Head Woodsman tame our wily shrew? Tune in later, same nilla channel, same deviant mind…..