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? **
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.
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.
“OAF! STOP YOU BRU…..OOOOWWWWCCCHHHH!”
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…..
part two is here
For a long time, the only sound in the forest was the steady whack of hand on bare ass, and the mewling cries of a spoiled Princess getting her long overdue punishment.
The blows were steady, firm but not brutal. At least from the Chief Woodsman’s point of view, as Her Royal Highness certainly had a different perspective on the situation.
After landing 50 or so smacks to the Royal Posterior, He began to rub her roasting little tush. Soft, whirling strokes, round and round the Royal bottom.
The gently teasing strokes slipped higher than her buttocks, coasting ticklishly around her lower spine, then swirled lower, to tease at her succulent upper thighs.
She moaned, his warm hand against her breeze-cooled flesh was stunningly sexual. She flushed, wondering if He would know that her woman-folds were wet with her unexpected arousal.
She expected Him to flip down her skirts, setting her to rights once more, but He continued, steadily stroking the reddened flesh of her ass.
She squirmed again.
Then let out a squeal of surprise as His finger swirled from her lower back, following the split of her backside.
Slowly, ever so teasingly slowly, His finger slid down that valley, until he was poised at the deepest part of the curve, just before it slid into the deeper, darker valley between her thighs.
She moaned as His finger hovered there.
Had she spoken aloud? No. Yes? Oh Great Uncle Harold’s Ghost!
He purred. She felt the rumble of it through his legs, through her belly, through the finger poised just there.
His finger slid down that crevasse, a bit more pressure now, until it skidded across a swollen lower lip. It was slick with her juices, and a smile flitted briefly across his face, though the Princess was unaware of it, in her face-down position.
She shifted across his lap, trying to move his finger deeper, uncertain about what exactly she wanted, other than more. It was the first time anyone had touched her intimately, other than her bath-maid, and that was only the briefest of touches. And never brought her to this state…panting, almost, and a deep throbbing that she had no idea how to assuage.
Suddenly, two fingers were twisting in her folds, rubbing not-so-softly up and down her slit. She twisted on his lap, moaning louder.
She felt the shifting of his legs, but was still surprised when He grabbed her upper arm and lifted her to stand on wobbly legs. He loomed over her in the gloaming.
“Time to set up the tent. We wouldn’t want Her Royal Highness to sleep under the stars like commoners, now, would we, Princess?” There was amusement in his voice- she would remember that, later. For now, however, she could only stand on lust-shaken legs, and stare at him open-mouthed.
A long moment passed. They stood, a handsbreath apart. His hand still holding her forearm, she stared up into his dark eyes, her own baby-blue gaze revealing her inner confusion. She gaped at him, at a complete loss for words, a rare occasion indeed! He took advantage of her open mouth, and slid his fingers, still covered with her juice, into that inviting cavern.
“Clean me, Princess.” He commanded her, a steely look coming into his eyes.
She wondered what He would do to her should she bite those oddly flavored fingers. His quirked eyebrow showed he expected nothing less from her. She opted to surprise the smug bastard, then.
Slowly lowering her eyes, she began to suck, to lave, to totally surround his fingers with her hot little mouth. When she was done, she slowly pulled her mouth from his hand, letting the last fingertip leave her lips with a loud *pop*. She glanced down, and sure enough there was a bulge in the front of his pants!
She couldn’t resist a smug smile of her own.
“Careful Princess,” he cautioned, “Play with fire and you might get more than you bargained for…”
Once more she let her eyes drift down to his crotch.
“Oh, I doubt that,” she said airily. “That’s not all that impressive to me, you know.”
And she flounced away to the wagon, not quite daring to look over her shoulder at his reaction to her incendiary words.
She reached into the depths of the buggy, unwilling to climb up with her aching ass, reaching for her bag, unaware that He had come up to stand right behind her.
oh dear oh my, Rapunzel is such a naughty girl…stay tuned…
She knelt upon the step of her shoddy carriage, annoyed at the Chief Woodsman for stirring strange feelings in her, but feeling triumphant in her last, quite insulting words.
Reaching for her bag, head and torso leaning betwixt the seats, her buttocks twitched painfully. She clenched her teeth, determined to not let him know how much she ached from his beating.
He stood behind her, enjoying the fetching sight of her ass waving impudently, an ass he was certain was burningly painful. Not to mention her aching, needy Royal Pussy. The wench, Princess or no, needed a firm hand, and he was not going to put up with the bullshit that Rapunzel was famed for.
He leaned forward, his rampant cock jutting out from his loosed britches, and scooped up her skirt hem, neatly tossing it up over her head.
“Eeeep!” She shouted, but it was too late.
He leaned fully against her, his thick manhood sliding between her slightly spread thighs, and laying along the passage that was moist and hot. His hands pinned her to the floor of the carriage through the layers of petticoats and skirting, and his hips slid back and forth, pulling his cock to and fro against her nether-lips.
She was silent for a moment, and unstruggling.
His cock brushed her clit and he felt the jolt through her entire body. The simultaneous gasp let him know that despite her reputation, no one else had touched the Royal Clit before now. The wolfish smile returned to his face, and he continued to fuck through her slit, feeling her wetness increasing, as well as her passion. Her sumptuous thighs clenched together, and her reddened ass pushed back at him.
He wondered if she was even aware, the little brat!
He pulled away, then, leaving his cock dangling in the cooling air of the early evening. He doubted a dip in the stream would soften him just now! Leaning forward once more, he grabbed a hank of fabric and hair, and pulled her from the confines of her conveyance.
She swayed as she stood, much as she had right after her first Royal Spanking. He was greatly amused to see the glaze in her eyes, as they fell to see his cock in its fullness, for the first time.
She swallowed hard. She’d never before seen an enlarged cock, and it was both frightening and erotic. Rather than comment on the size of the beast before her, she pretended nonchalance.
He held onto the hank of hair by her neck and gave her a wee shake, and then pulled her closer. She was somewhat more resistant, but he was insistent.
“It’s you. You, Princess, have wetted my cock. Now you must clean it. Every wet inch of it.” He saw her eyes go round.
“Not with any fabrics, my Royal Wench…with this, ” and he tapped his fingers upon her mouth.
“Tis time and past for that wild mouth of yours to learn some control. My cock will help enforce that lesson. Your mouth is too quick to cut, that tongue too sharp for most to tolerate. I will not tolerate it. Therefore, we shall work to…” he paused a moment, smiling that wolfish grin that put her instantly on guard. “We shall blunt your edges a bit.”
He pulled her to her knees on the soft turf beside the carriage, his hand fisted deeply in her rich hair. She shuddered. How could she put that…that…HUGE thing in her mouth? Her small pink tongue came out and licked around her lips. He pulled her closer still, then closer until her lips were pressed against the side of it.
It was soft beneath her lips, and yet, throbbing and hard too. The flesh was velvety, and had such a strange texture compared to her own smooth parts. She was both fascinated and repulsed.
A Royal Princess did not even look at a man’s sword, let alone touch it. But He…he did not treat her as a princess.
With a shudder, she opened her mouth and began to lick. The taste was not unpleasant, she found. Her taste. She felt a shudder travel through her body, and end up between her thighs. She felt hot and sticky in her deepest places. She needed something. Something she had never needed before.
How she wished it wasn’t HIM. But somehow, she knew it was. She licked him carefully, up the shaft and down, avoiding the head. The bulbous thing at the end of his cock was weeping a bit, and it terrified her. The grip on her hair had loosened as she had licked him, but now, she felt him begin to move her, move himself.
He banged his cockhead lightly on her mouth, and she locked her lips shut, looking up at him imploringly. Her eyes said, please don’t make me do this.
“Open your lips, Princess, or I shall part them for you. I’ve told you, I won’t take any of your impudence, and I was most sincere. You have been spoiled too long. Now it’s past time for You to obey.”
He pressed forward, and slowly her lips yielded to his cock. He sighed as the big head slipped into her hot mouth, his hand cupping the back of her head and guiding her onto his shaft.
She could barely breath around the monster in her mouth. It was still pushing in, pushing deeper. The head glided down the length of her tongue, slowly, slowly, before hitting the back of her throat. Choking, gagging, she tried to pull away, but he only increased the grip on her head, and held them in stasis.
He released her suddenly, and pulled back. She gasped, coughing, as the thick rod left her mouth.
“Good little Princess. That’s enough lesson for now. We need to set up our tent.”
Oh Sweet Blessed Mabel, she thought…’our’ tent?
**our poor Princess, confronted by a nice thick cock and a coed tent…what will happen next? Same blog, same story…tune in tomorrow ..
Setting up the tent had been hard work, work the Princess was ill-suited for. And yet, even she could see that just one man couldn’t set it up alone. So she, for perhaps the first time in her life, obeyed His directions, and surprisingly, they had the tent set up in short order.
He had taken Her Royal Pain-in-the-Arse’s belongings from the boot of the carriage, and brought them inside, as well as sending the Princess to retrieve the bedrolls. He pushed them together in the center of the tent. She stared at him, unable, or perchance, unwilling, to comment, but her eyes spoke volumes.
The perfume of aroused young woman spilled into the tent with every step she took. She may have been unaware of the sweet fragrance, but His cock was certainly taking notice. And complaining loudly about not getting release in her sweet and hot mouth.
‘Down Boy,” he said mentally to his twitching cock, as she swished out of the tent, off to fetch her last parcel.
He left the tent as well, and set about making a small fire to heat water and a light meal in. While waiting for the fire to temper a bit, he leaned back on one elbow, feet crossed at the ankle, looking for all the world as if he owned the world and all in it.She watched him, wary. The tables had turned on her, and she was puzzled a bit by it.
Always before her wit, her tongue and her reputation had given her the upper hand. She thought longingly of the palace far and away, and scowled thinking of her Father and his Royal Edict to send her away.
“To a Tower in the deepest wood,” He had said, meaning his hunting lodge. However, there was a tower within that abode, and she had no doubt that this brute would follow the Kings command to lock her within.
Unless she could win him over. She sent him a tentative smile across the fire.
He lifted a brow. She scowled.
“Tis customary to smile back, when one is smiled to,” she responded, annoyed. She was twitchy, and feeling snarky. It was a dangerous combination, and she tried to remember not to rile this oaf. Why she was so twitchy…well, it didn’t bear remembering. Damn the oaf to all 11 Hells of Nor. She grit her teeth.
“That looks like more of a grimace to me, little bratling” She gritted her teeth harder. He was smiling that smile again, and it was making her tummy roll. It was her tummy. It was. Certainly not her woman-folds. No.
“I am hungry, oaf. When is our meal going to be ready?” The moment the words left her lips she realized what she had said, and more importantly, to whom she had spoken them.
He knew she was tired, unsettled, and unused to being treated like a bratling instead of a spoilt princess. Still. He intended to well and truly quell the little beast well before her father, the King, would traverse the wood to see how his young daughter was faring.
“Come. Here.” He pointed to his side.
She turned up her nose and looked away.
His eyebrow lifted, she saw it from the corner of her eye, but be damned! She rose from her side of the fire.
“I am tired and am retiring, oaf.” With that, she flounced towards the tent.
In a single fluid movement, he was on his feet and across the clearing. His hand reached the tent flap a moment before hers, yet she had heard not a sound.
Her heart beat wildly in her chest, and her bosom heaved. His hand took a fistful of her glorious hair, and he propelled her into the tent.
“After you, Princess Bratling,” he said, his voice hard and lacking humor. She tried to pull away, tried to turn and push him, but he was raw power, half again and more her size, and she had little hope of turning him away.
He pulled her closer, her hand caught on his chest between them, and took her mouth. It was not a kiss, it was a stamp. He bit her lips, suckled her tongue, and began fucking her mouth with his own thick tongue. He felt her soften, lean into him, moan into his mouth.
He stepped away, and tugged at her dress. The fine fabric tore like paper. His gaze ate her. She was all pale light in the darkness of the tent, lit only with the ruddy glow of the fire beyond. It took only the barest of pushes to bring her down onto the bedding spread there, and only a fraction longer for his mouth to find her bare, peaking breast.
He drew that turgid peak into his mouth, and sucked it hard, then harder still, until she cried out with the unexpected pulling. His teeth worked her tit, stirring a welter of feelings in her…a pain, but a darker pleasure. His free hand roamed her, learning her body blindly, testing peaks and hollows, and dark warm wet folds.
His finger worked the aroused bud between her thighs, and the flow of her sex honey as she came drew the scent of her around him. It was intoxicating.
our heroine has fallen under a spell…have you? tune in Friday for the ongoing adventures of Princess Bratling…~n~
She woke, groggy with the aftereffects of Him. Her body hurt in new places. Her shoulders, sore from hefting water for the horses, her arse, sore with that resounding spanking, and between her thighs, sore from ….
She blushed in the darkness. How had she let him do those ….things to her? Even now he controlled her, holding her tightly to him. She could feel the thickness of his cock, hardened in his sleep, pressing against her buttocks, his warmth all along her body. She lay, tucked under his chin, and so close to him that he may well have been wearing her.
She remembered his fingers sliding up and down her slickened slit, her back arching as he twirled the mysterious, throbbing spot, and the feeling of splintering as she erupted.
Then, as she was floating softly down to her body, the piercing of her with his engorged cock. It had hurt, but so delightfully. She’d risen into his thrust, moaning and bucking as the splintering broke her yet again, into small glowing bits.
He had continued, his thrusting strokes building up in intensity, his body sliding along hers, his hands squeezing at her breasts, pulling her up and over the abyss again. She lay nearly insensate as He thundered on.
And yet that persistent tingle buzzed betwixt her thighs.
And the tingle became a roar, and the roar became a wave. As the wave built, she felt the most incredible things…hot and cold, her nipples peaked so tightly she could feel them throbbing, that little spot that he rubbed with every filling thrust…and she felt Him.
Felt that thick head deep in her belly, her belly grabbing it, trying to hold it within. She felt him go deeper, grow harder, until she was swept up in an explosion so intense, feeling Him spurting into her, that the world went dark.
Now she was awake. Awake with a throbbing in her loins that was not at all unpleasant. She wondered about the mystery of it all. How he had fit that giant rod into her. She was a Princess, after all, unused to the large, the coarse, the very meanness of life. Yet….he had most definitely ‘fit’. Her hand traced lightly down his large and muscled thigh. It was covered in coarse hair, but ’twas warm, strong. She wondered…
“you think too much, Princess.”
She jolted with surprise. She had thought him asleep, his breathing even and deep. He pulled her onto her back, rolled over her, his knees parting her thighs, until his cock lay along her woman channel. She felt the pressure, the heat of him.
His hands came to her breasts, pinching her nipples firmly. His mouth touched at her lips, a brush of softness. A strong tremor ran through her at the sharp contrast.
His teeth flashed once in the darkness, the smile of the wolf, as she arched up, baring her neck in her innocence.
Bending his head, angling his hips, he feasted anew.
The King rode through the forest, his bejeweled doublet gleaming in the mid-day sun. His horse, a rich chestnut stallion of dubious breeding but good temperament pranced through the late-summer afternoon.
He was in good humor. Life at the palace had settled into an ease of contentment. His wives were happy, his councillors were happy, and his children and all the tutors were happy. It was amazing that one wee Princess could disrupt so many with her willful ways.
He thought of the Head Woodsman, wondering how he had fared these last several fortnight’s. He loved his daughter, and in truth had aided and abetted her spoiling. He rubbed his jaw, reflectively. Still, the minx was nearly past marriageable age. He’d promised her mother that he would not parcel her out as was the wont of many kings, for his own political gain.
But Gods knew, he was sick to death of dealing with her himself.
She came back from the stream behind her fathers hunting lodge. She was dressed simply, her gown bereft of the embellishments she had thought so important when she was at court. Her hair was gathered back into a simple braid at her crown, then left to cascade down her back.
He liked it that way.
She carried the bucket with ease now, her body accustomed to work that she had once found so odious.
He had changed that, too.
She smiled as she passed the kitchen garden, thinking of how he had tutored her on weeding…her, naked, on her hands and knees in the dirt, his thickened cock buried betwixt her thighs, rutting her forward to each new weed, not permitting her to move away, His hands fisted in her hair as though using reins. That was their third day here, and she was enraged that he used her body to foil her every attempt to evade the lessons he was teaching her.
He’d rutted, she had shouted and hurtled invective at him. Clever, creative, rude invective. He’d impaled her so hard that her arms had buckled, and she was planted, face first, into the soil. He’d held her hips and swirled his ’round, the sensation overwhelmingly sensuous. She’d begged for release, unclear if she wanted him to let her go, or give her the sexual explosion that she had come to crave. He had ignored her plea. Instead, he lifted her by her hair, bidding her to continue at her task. Her face caked with dirt, her hands and knees smudged deeply with ingrained dirt, she thought only of her deepest desire. Not a bath. Not a rag. She thought only of her needy love-hole, throbbingly filled with his cock. Yet, only when she had finished the row would he give her the release that she really craved.
Oh, truly it had been a hard-fought war, but in the end, they were both triumphant, His seed spilling deeply into her body, as her own juices coated him thickly in response.
Her nipples tingled and she moved on, a brief frown flashing across her face. He’d tied them this morn’, with thin tendrils of rough hemp, tight wrapped around her buds. At first she had laughed that it was faint punishment, she must be mellowing Him. The wolf’s grin had danced around his face before settling on his mouth, crinkling his eyes, and teasing out the dimples she enjoyed dipping her pointy pink tongue into.
“Give it time, Princess. You will be cursing me ere half the morning passes. I’ll return by noon with game, and you will remember henceforth to not forget to latch the goat’s gate.”
She had trilled out a laugh, finding it very humorous to recall him trying to herd the goats back into their enclosure. Her job had been to stand by the gate and shut it once he had them in.
It had taken over an hour to catch the first doe, then the other. The buck wandered over when the girls had been rounded up, and willingly led into the paddock. Himself was sweaty and annoyed when the three were enclosed, and when she laughed at him, had glared at her. She had bolted at that look, but he caught her by her flowing tresses. First he spanked her, until her bottom was rosy and she was begging for forgiveness. He then declared that she would have an additional atonement for the laughter that she had dared let spill at His expense.
And then he had buried her face into his sweat-filled armpit. He’d overwhelmed her with his musky scent then, and continued to overwhelm her even now. There was still a tremendous learning to be done! She gave a brief thought to the life she had left behind. She pictured the court, her parents and siblings. Overdressed courtiers, simpering fops bidding for her attention….how empty that life had been, and her all unaware. Still, she wondered. Did they miss her?
Doubtful. She’d been a bratling, as Adam had said.
She was distracted by a commotion from the front of the lodge. Leaving the bucket on the cupboard, she went towards the entrance, wiping her hands on her apron, and her sweaty forehead on her sleeve.
And stopped and stared at her father, overdressed for this simple setting, standing and gawking at her. Beside him stood Adam.
“I found your Father whilst out hunting, and accompanied him here, Princess Pita.”
“Pita?” queried the King.
“Yes, Majesty. Princess Pain-In-the-Ass.”
The King stared at his Chief Woodsman. Then looked at his daughter, transformed from petulance to her truest beauty. And began to chuckle.
The chuckle became a rumbling laugh. And the rumbling laugh became thigh-slapping mirth.
The Princess crossed her arms over her chest and stood watching her father, bent double in his humor, quirking one eyebrow at Adam. Then quickly uncrossed her arms, at the unexpected pain and pressure on her now tightly swollen nipples. The frown danced across her face briefly, but He saw it. The smile he sent her in return was smug.
The King recovered himself, slapping his Chief Woodsman on the shoulder with a “Good Man, good man!”
This was going better than even HE had thought. His quick assessing glance took in his daughters posture, her nipples jutting through her simple smock, even through her apron, and the way her gaze returned again and again to the tall, confident man at his side.
It seemed he’d found the perfect man to help let down Rapunzel’s hair.
You’ve followed a sennight, and enjoyed her tale…if i stop it now will there be a wail? Let me know knaves and lasses, if now we move on, or should there be one more verse to this song..?
His face was buried in the crook of her neck, his teeth biting that sweet spot he’d come to enjoy so much. His cock was buried deeply within her sweet channel, filling her belly, and her lithe body was rising to meet him, her inner muscles clamping hard through her coming undone.
She was spread for His pleasure, tied to the four corners of the bed he had chosen as the grooms gift from her father, the King. Chosen amongst much ribald humor, she was certain. Her father was a lusty man himself, and this bed was proof positive that he was happy in her marriage to the Chief Woodsman.
And he was ever so happy to have her out of the Palace.
The wedding had been a simple affair, all things considered. Neither lutenists nor minstrels had sung their blessings, nor were scions nor Grande Dames invited.
The simple family affair was held in the Kings former hunting lodge, a lodge he bequeathed to his reformed daughter as her brides gift.
The priest had spoken his lines, and Adam and his tamed Rapunzel, said their vows. She promised to obey, but the twinkle in her eye promised a fluidity to that definition. He smiled. She was a challenge, to be sure, but then again, he enjoyed a bit of a challenge. He didn’t choose a spiritless damsel, but one with fire and lust for life.
And she certainly had lust aplenty!
He smiled to himself, thinking of her attempt to milk the goats; her frustration, her triumph, and the way she had melted against him when she had kissed him in her joy at finally mastering a task he had set her to. He remembered too, as they had watched the buck claim one oft the does in goat-lust, how he had bent her over, then and there, her hands clenched around the fencepost, and taken her hard from behind. His hands had fisted on her hips, her sweetly rounded arse pressing against his belly as they watched the animals rut before them.
And how like animals they themselves had become. Coming in her once was not enough, and as he pulled from her, he turned her ’round to face him, his hands tearing at her bodice to reach her tender flesh.
Her tits were ripe, firm fruits, and he bent his head and suckled her hard, until she cried out in her rapture again. His hands slid along her soaked folds, finding her magic lantern, and rubbing it hard for the genie to appear…
He pushed her ruthlessly to peak, and another, watching her come undone intently, waiting for her full submission to Him, the lusty goats still fucking behind them noisily.
His cock grew harder still, at the memory he would forevermore hold in his heart of her…long hair tousled and dancing around them, tits hanging reddened by his hand, hard-topped nuggets teased tight by his mouth. Her head was thrown back, as she sobbed in a breath between lips swollen from his demanding mouth.
He had taken her again, there against the fence, lifting her lithe body and settling her back against the railing, her legs about his waist, and his cock deep inside her throbbing, juicy hole. He’d rutted in her like that goat, impaling her with his thick cock, his strong legs bending and rising as he thrust, teased out, and thrust again. Twas not a gentle fuck, he knew, but she had equally returned his passion, coming wildly on his third thrust, and again as he began to erupt within her. Her clenching chasm drew him deep, held him tight against the very entry to her womb, sucking his juices from his balls. Even the goats had looked as her cry of release came.
Later, when he had recovered, he carried her limp body to the stream and dumped her in. She’d come up sputtering, cold, enraged.
Of course he’d had to spank her again. He loved her sassy mouth, but who would have known a Princess even knew those words?
He knew there were memories aplenty to be created with his vibrant little wife. He thrust again into her, enjoying her helpless state, enjoying her body, enjoying his incredible good fortune. What had seemed to be a curse had turned into a blessing. A blessing with bite! He laughed against her throat, and she murmured a soft expletive.
Happily ever after, indeed!