7 comments/ 9918 views/ 23 favorites The Art of Princess Maintenance By: taxandtithe One of the worst things about becoming a Fairy Godmother is the weight gain. Seriously, for the first few centuries I could eat all of the gloaming dew and tickleberry nectar I could stomach, and my belly stayed flat and taut as a satyr's drum. Then I one day a lightning bug trundles up, dumps an envelope in my lap. Then he goes "You've been served!" As soon as I open the folder with my Godmother duty selection, I swelled up like a breakfast sausage. Let me tell you, we fairies like gossamer and lace and showing off a lot of skin, and those kinds of clothes are not really designed to adapt to the ass of their wearer quadrupling in size in an instant. I had to fly home fat and naked, sweating like a pig on wings that were not used to working that hard. So yeah, Godmother Duty. Kinda like your human idea of jury duty, in that it's nothing anyone wants to do, unless you happen to get assigned to some high-profile case like Cinderella that you can make bank writing a book about later. That almost never happens. Every princess has to have a Fairy Godmother by their third birthday, and you have to stick around until they marry a prince and get the ever after. And you have to be nice. That last bit may not sound like a big deal, but you have to remember that every fairy is eligible for Godmother Duty. I am not your run-of-the-mill dandelion-riding glitter-farting tart. I happen to be attendant to the Unseelie Court, and we are not known for our predilection toward benevolence. For that reason, the selection committee generally gives us a pass, given our enthusiastic affection for things like needle-sharp teeth and human suffering. Still, we're signatories to the Convention, which means a certain percentage of us have to be selected, or all sorts of paperwork kicks in. There aren't any types of fairies that like paperwork. So I let the queen know what's up, Court-attendance-wise. She's irritated, obviously, but she's pretty cool about it. She grants me a boon and a geas to help me out. The geas is to do my best for the survival of my princess or suffer torment. That sounds like kind of a downer, but it's actually more along the lines of keeping me motivated. Our people just prefer to be under a geas if we have to do something we don't like, or we tend to wander off or start torturing things. The boon I held on to. The Queen of Winter has a lot of power, way way more than I do, so a boon from her is a hell of a thing. You gotta be kinda careful with it, though. She's bound by her word to grant what you ask, if it's in her power to do so, but if you ask for something that irritates her, she has a million billion ways to make your life miserable, for centuries. So, I figured it was best if I thought about it for a while until I could pick one that would please her, or at least not bother her. So armed (and many-chinned), I set out to meet the little turdburger I'd been saddled with for the next decade or two. Turns out she was born in a castle, which is good, because I was a little worried it was going to be a rags-to-riches sitch. Said castle turned out to be big and white and shining, pennants blazing from every spire, a shining beacon to all the land, et cetera. Only downside is the kingdom itself. My princess was the heir to the Magic Kingdom. Like there's only one, right? I personally know of at least a half dozen that are also called the Magic Kingdom. What would be magic was if any of the founders had had the creativity to invent a proper noun. Anyway, this particular Magic Kingdom was pretty standard western-myth stereotype. Wizards, witches, orcs, elves, the occasional giant, a bat-winged, fire-breathing dragon every twenty years, you know the sort of thing. The problem with this kind of neighborhood is that it's practically founded on the idea of the kidnapped princess. I checked the paperwork from the Fairy Godmother Committee, and yup, there it was. The FGC mandated that I preside over at least one kidnapping for my princess. That didn't mean I had to have her kidnapped, it meant that someone would be contracted for a kidnapping, and I had to tag along to effect timely advice or minor magic to ensure her eventual escape and/or rescue. Not a big deal, right? Except that if the little ditz manages to get killed, my credit for Fairy Godmothering is void, and I'm stuffed right back at the front of the queue for the next princess in line. Since kidnappings in kingdoms like this are never political, they generally only happen after the princess grows tits. That means that if she croaks before that all that time putting up with her while waiting on the jugs to develop doesn't count for anything. Now, I don't want you to misunderstand me. I don't have anything against the concept of princesses in general, or against mine in particular. Hell, I was kinda curious to see what kind she turned out to be. A cousin of mine in the Court had duty and her princess turned out to be this tomboy joan-of-arc type asskicking warrior. Said it was the most fun she'd ever had, still checks in on the descendants every now and then. She even shows up in a corner of their coat of arms, wings and teeth and all. Well, it's kind of hard to judge how someone is going to turn out when they're three years old. Usually. In my case, it was pretty obvious right away. The first time I saw Princess Natalie, she was staring intently at one of the castle's collection of feral cats, watching as it carefully gave itself a tongue bath. This lasted for a few minutes, until she levered herself upright and bumbled over to the animal, which ignored her and continued licking itself. At least, until she bent down, grabbed a double fistful of fur, and began licking it too. I used up the FGC magic quota for a week preventing that cat from mauling her. It never got over the trauma, and would attack the princess on sight from that moment on. I put up with this for about two more weeks before the body of the offended feline mysteriously turned up in the pen the king kept his hunting dogs in. I can understand wounded sensibilities, and I like cats (natural sociopaths), but my patience has limits. ---- Princess Catlicker didn't improve my impression of her intelligence over the next few weeks, and it became clear that the vast majority of my Fairy Godmothering would be preventing her from killing herself through acts of blind stupidity before I could get her married off. She was basically good-natured, and as she grew it became clear that she would be a willowy beauty, just like her genre of princess should be, but I swear to the Queen she had to be the stupidest creature I'd ever met. Her toddler years were basically a study in steering her away from sharp things, hot things, and ledges (so many ledges in that castle... so many). After a while, I could more or less handle that on autopilot, and the status quo held up for a few years. By the time she was eight or nine, her stupidity took on a sort of cunning wit of its own, and became infinitely more subtle in its attempts to kill her. I spent her tween years preventing her from smelling, ingesting, and applying-as-makeup more toxins than I ever knew existed. Did you know humans can't eat hemlock? They don't get high or anything, they just turn funny colors and die. She almost didn't survive puberty, because I wanted to kill her. Her sex drive didn't manifest in an interest in men, even though I went out of my way to make sure she tripped and landed in the arms of a strapping young castle guard or two. I don't mean that she wasn't straight, I mean that whatever was crosswired in her head knew she had a lot of new urges, it just didn't know what to apply those urges toward. Which meant that she did everything with a sort of breathless, frustrated, idiotic gusto. I applied to the FGC to be allowed to teach her how to masturbate, in the hopes of bleeding off some of the overflow, but they're kind of prudish about that sort of thing. The did append a coda to my assignment that freed me from having to safeguard her virginity, because I was burning through the magic budget like a flame sprite just to keep her alive. A lot of the people that you think of as 'stupid' aren't, not really. What they are is unmotivated. True, functional idiots are as rare as actual geniuses. Princess Natalie was a diamond among these. She was motivated. She loved life, and people, and cats, and chickens, and knives, and fire, and the moat. Sometimes a number of these things at once. Even standard princessish activities like needlework were a minefield of narrowly missed arteries and almost-disfiguring scars. Then, finally (finally!) her tits came in. Nothing special or anything, nice, high, not too big, pretty pink nipples, appropriate to the graceful figure of the newly adult princess of her eighteenth summer. Now all I had to do was keep her alive through a kidnapping, and the FGC had promised to use its influence to get her married off as quickly as possible afterward. The chairman confided in me that he was glad I'd ended up with the assignment, because he didn't think anyone without a touch of evil could have weathered her this long. I was inclined to agree. Then, inevitably, she screwed it all up by kidnapping herself. On the morning after her eighteenth birthday, she wasn't in her bed. The castle was in an uproar. The FGC hadn't sent me any word of a pending action, and they do not fuck up on that kind of stuff. As far as bureaucracies go, the Fairy Godmother Committee is a model of studied efficiency. So, anyway, she was gone. Even with my locater spells I couldn't find her for fifteen minutes. When I finally did, she was on a thin trail, threaded through acres of marsh behind the castle. She had set a determined pace, and in a rare flash of practicality, she was wearing one of her coats. Wearing it over her nightie, but still. I flew around the next bend ahead of her and landed, taking the form of an old peasant woman. When she came upon me, she spake, "Hello, old peasant woman!" "Hello dearie, what are you up to today?" "I am going to go see the forest." she said, gesturing to a dark line of trees a couple of miles away. This being the Magic Kingdom, that forest was peopled with all manner of nasty creatures. "Why would you do that, dear? It's dangerous." "I've never been!" I was tempted to ask if she'd ever jumped off a cliff, but I didn't want to give her any ideas. I sighed and resigned myself to the task. "Don't you think it would be safer back in the castle?" That gave her pause for a few seconds. Then she beamed at me and said "No, there are swords in the castle!" At one point the Sergeant-at-Arms had tried to explain to her why the armory wasn't an appropriate place for little princesses. Apparently something stuck. I sighed. "Well, be careful, dearie." "Okay!" She tromped away from me, her stride the determined, confident pace reserved for the unwise. It would take her a few more minutes to hit the edge of the forest, and I decided to risk letting her drown in the marsh long enough to open a channel to the FGC chairman. I explained the situation. "Basically, I'm pretty sure I can keep her alive. Where do we fall on disfigured?" "We tend to frown on that. Keep her in one piece. I doubt she'll leave the forest a virgin, but we've already covered you for that. Save your magic for life-threatening situations." "Man, I want an extra century of duty exemption if she survives to her wedding." "You keep that one alive, Fae, and I will personally see to it you never have to do this again." "My very own Augean Stables." "I wouldn't let that one anywhere near running water." I grunted and closed the channel. ---- I caught up just as she was crossing the forest's threshold. Perfect timing, really, I got a front row seat as she immediately stepped off the path and directly into a hunting snare that yanked her, squawking in surprise, right into the air. She dangled there by one leg, her coat flipped up over her, hiding everything above her waist except the ends of her long blond hair and the tips of her fingers. Below her waist, however, was a different story. It seemed the princess had forgotten some of her undergarments. Again. I have to admit, her personal attendant takes her job seriously, vis-a-vis the royal pubic hair situation. I sighed and flitted up to the apex of the snare to examine it. Attached just behind one of the knots was a strip of leather with a few glyphs. An alarm tag, and goblin runes. I cocked an ear and, sure enough, I could just make out the rustle of an approaching hunting party. There they came, squat and green. I watched as they exclaimed over their unexpected bounty. In a couple of minutes, they had her cut down and tied ankles and wrists to a stick that two of the taller ones hefted up on their shoulders. Through all of this, the princess kept up a lively stream of chatter, asking questions the taciturn creatures didn't bother to answer, although that didn't dampen her enthusiasm. Eventually one of them balled up a strip of leather and stuffed it into her mouth just to get some peace. I trailed them to their small village, where they propped her stick up between two trees and let her dangle. A couple of them began poking various parts of her and talking among themselves, obviously discussing possible recipes. The rest of them went to gather the rest of the village to the feast. I wandered around until I spotted the village elder, a wizened old goblin woman, carrying a staff covered in fetishes of various effects. I flitted down to her and revealed myself. Now you have to understand, obviously there are certain guidelines about Fairy Godmother appearance dictated by the FGC, like enforced obesity and big hair. However, we have some leeway when it comes to individual differences, and I chose to maintain my Unseelie facial features. Which meant that what the goblin shaman saw appear in front of her was a fat fairy a third of her height in a frumpy dress, with solid red eyes and a mouthful of needle teeth. She just stared at me for a moment, her mouth hanging open in shock, and then she proceeded to fall backward onto her ass, laughing so hard she dropped her stick. -"Mehahaha hooo ohhhh haha ohhh that's good, that's good. So we have a princess and a Godmother from the Winter Court, this is not a thing seen every day."- I grinned at the old bitch. It was funny. -"Well, and you know what I'm here for. Shall we set some ground rules?"- -"Oh, but my boys will be sad to lose the feast. Still, I was a princess, once, I know the score. That one looks almost ripe, you don't have long to go."- -"If I don't kill her myself first. I would have loved a goblin princess."- -"My Godmother was a prude. One of the, you know..."- She made a gesture like sprinkling dust. I laugh. -"I know the type, yes. So, here's the deal. I'm kind of annoyed with her. I need her alive, I need her physically unharmed, but I don't need her virtuous, if you get my meaning."- The old woman gets a thoughtful look. -"Hmm. Well, well. There is something I can use her for. No lasting harm. And I can even keep her a virgin. If not virtuous."- -"Then by all means, have at her."- ---- One of them had removed her gag, which meant that she was nattering at everyone and everything again. She seemed blissfully unconcerned about the fact that she was tied up and surrounded by short monsters. I suppose her blithe attitude had something to do with the fact that I'd protected her from major mishap all these years. Well, and the fact that she really was astoundingly stupid. I often wondered if she had survival instincts and just overrode them, of if she'd left them on the counter along with her common sense. The shaman went down to have a word with her boys, who made collective noises of disappointment at first, but then perked up as she outlined what she wanted from them. She also sent a runner who disappeared into one of the huts, briefly, and then reappeared, trotting over to me with a shot glass full of what turned out to be goblin beer. It was the size of a small bucket in my hands. I thanked the goblin and then flitted up to a low branch to settle in and watch the show. A word about goblins. They are inherently creatures of Earth, unlike me (Air, Darkness), and as such their magic tended to be collectively harnessed from the spiritual energy of their entire community and channeled through their elders. In this case that was the old shaman who was currently directing her horde to seat the princess in front of a tree and tie her there by pulling her arms back and securing them behind it. Shamanistic magic is powerful, usually slow to act, and tends to center around various aspects of fertility, like crops, or abundant game, or more babies for the village. It's not capable of producing virgin birth (that takes a randy deity), so I knew we weren't going to leave with the princess carrying any little green babies, but it was almost definitely going to be sexual in nature, because Earth magic is almost always sexual in nature. When it isn't dealing with blood sacrifice, anyway. It also probably wasn't going to be particularly hygienic, but that's mostly because these are goblins. I mean, come on. The princess kept nattering at the shaman, even as the goblin used a sharp, bloodstained piece of flint to slit open the front of the girl's nightgown. Finally, glaring at the blond idiot, the shaman touched her staff to the princessly forehead and uttered a few words of power. The princess blinked, and blinked again. "You help goblin village now, princess." said the shaman. "I help goblin village now, princess." replied the princess, her voice a dull monotone. It was the shaman's turn to blink. -"Good enough."- The old goblin gestured, and two of her warriors stepped forward, standing to either side of the princess. Both of them pulled their loincloths aside and began to stroke themselves hard. I'll say this for goblin men, they are men. I mean, their cocks are man-sized. Human man-sized. It's an impressive display on a species that doesn't come much higher than a human knee. Anyway, they began jacking themselves off in front of the princess. The shaman lowered the tip of her staff to touch the princess's breastbone, and said a single word of power. Both of the warriors began to cum, each expertly aiming their issue at one of the princess's breasts, every square inch of which was shortly coated in a thick layer of goopy, dripping goblin cum. The warriors backed away from the princess and returned to the crowd, and the shaman spoke another few syllables. The princess's breasts immediately began to swell. She stared down at them, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as her nipples drank the cum off of the surface of her titflesh. Soon the pool had flowed completely into them, and her little tits and their perky pink nipples had swollen well past the size of her head. Her nipples had turned into proud red knobs the size of fat strawberries. I wondered if the ritual would leave them that way. The princess already had to use an inordinate percentage of her available processing capacity to stay upright. Amusing as it might be, having her crawling around on all fours like a blond cow of slightly below-average intelligence (for a cow) probably wouldn't help her marriage prospects. On the other hand, they were pretty spectacular tits. I decided just to watch and wait. The warriors began to form a queue, staring at the princess's feet and going on for dozens and dozens of goblin men. The shaman said something to the first one, and he clambered up the princess's body, until each of his feet was planted firmly on a royal tit, sinking slightly into the pale flesh. He released his cock from his loincloth, where it dangled just in front of the royal nose. The Art of Princess Maintenance Ch. 02 Fairies don't get a lot in the way of formal education. We come into being more or less needing to know most of the things we'll ever need to. I mention this because I want you to be impressed with me when I describe the arc the cartwheeling form of my princess was cutting through the air eight or ten stories above the treeline as a 'parabola'. Shut up. I had to look it up. Anyway, I usually don't fly up that high. The forest is kinda pretty from up there, like a big green shag carpet where instead of fleas you have ogres and werewolves. I don't think the princess was really paying attention, though, as she approached the apex of her flight. She looked kinda green herself, and I think she was spending the bulk of her mental capacity trying not to throw up. Weirdly, her hips were still doing the little humpa-humpa-humpa thrusts that had gotten us up here in the first place. We'd left the goblin village behind a few hours before. I'd been trailing behind and above her, occasionally gently spelling one poisonous creature or another out of her vicinity. Her path had been fairly meandering until about twenty minutes ago, when she'd begun marching pretty steadily in one direction. Her hips had begun making that weird little humpa-humpa-humpa move and she'd joined a pretty big stream of woodland creatures, all of which were heading for a clearing, which had, at its center, a hill. Giant. Hill giant. Masturbating. A masturbating hill giant was sitting in the middle of the clearing, is what I mean. A clearing which was filled, filled, with animals fucking the shit out of each other. This was some Caligula-style cross-species animal-planet-after-dark level shit. Pretty sure I saw a couple of skunks trying to double team a hedgehog. Two or three rabbits and a squirrel even tried their luck with the princess, but her pace was too determined for them to latch on. I'm not sure, exactly, what was going on. But the hill giant was the only non-mundane besides me in the area, and I didn't feel the urge to get down and dirty with a tree frog, so I'm assuming whatever was in the air was originating with him. Which seemed borne out by the princess's behavior, which was to walk right up to where his boulder-sized nuts were resting on the ground and begin nuzzling one of them like a cat anticipating the sound of a can opener. Then the giant... you know what, I'll cut to the chase. Long story short, the princess was soon naked and splayed out tummy-down across the head of a dick that she couldn't quite cover with her body, happily slapping her hips against it with an expression of pheromone-induced bliss on her face. I was just watching, hoping she survived an encounter with a creature that I don't think could even focus small enough to see me, much less be affected by anything magical I could cough up. Then the giant got this puckered, funny look on his face. Really funny. He looked so fascinatingly idiotic that I didn't realize it was his O-face until I saw the princess fly past me, champagne cork style, out of my peripheral vision. And so here we are. Flying through the air together (I can move pretty fast when I need to), trailed by a half a ton of hill giant cum in a sparkling stream behind us, preparing for the princess to begin her plummet to certain death. And the whole time, the only thing I could think was, 'God, why didn't I set her loose before this?' Even if she didn't survive our little outing, which seemed pretty likely, and I had to begin my assignment over again, the stories I was getting out of our visit to the forest were going to keep me in drinks for decades. I know I seem a little irreverent, sometimes, but believe me, I take free alcohol very seriously indeed. Anyway, the plummet. So, fairies, as you might expect, are creatures of Air. Air magic doesn't really use ritual, because of the ephemeral nature of the forces it deals with. The downside to that is that while it can be powerful, the precise amount of power is unpredictable. The upside is that whatever the effect is, it tends to be fast. Which was good, given that I had about a dozen seconds before royal impact. And possibly royal greasy-stain-on-the-forest-floor. A naked human, no matter how attractive, just isn't designed to catch air, so I didn't bother trying to summon up gusts to slow her down. I just made all the air she struck during her tumbling descent stick to her, until she was basically a bon-bon of compressed atmosphere with a princess center. That made it pretty hard for her to breathe, but our goblin friends had given her a pretty good induction into the art of breath-holding the day before, so I wasn't worried that she'd suffocate before she crashed. Into a chicken shack. I know it was a chicken shack, because it was clearly a shack for the brief second prior to impact. I know it was filled with chickens, because in the second after impact, everything for thirty yards was softly drifting feathers. I didn't know immediately if the princess had survived, because my first priority was getting as far from the impact point as I could in the next few seconds. At which point, the hill-giant's cum caught up with her. ---- The aftermath was about what you would expect. Everything was coated with giant-jizz and chicken feathers, including the princess, who was sitting up dazed in the middle of ground zero. I was looking around with the same kind of fascination people feel looking at car wrecks. The forest was completely still, nothing was moving except a few drifting feathers that had somehow avoided a drenching. The chickens themselves had apparently been completely obliterated, because there was not a cluck to be heard. Then someone behind me spoke. "Ah'm gonna to kill that fuckin' giant one day." I turned to find a grey-bearded satyr standing behind me, staring mournfully at the remains of his chicken empire. Well, as mournfully as anything with the head of a goat can stare at anything. Standing next to him, holding him by the arm, was a total milf. Like, seriously, I'd like to fuck her. She was wearing an apron over an amazing set of knockers and voluptuous hips. Her hair was in a farmwife bun that begged to be used like a big handle to direct her pouty lips to a variety of unspeakable acts. "Hi there," I said, "are you a nymph?" She smiled up to me. "Yes. Stare if you need to, I don't mind. I'm Sylvie, and this is my husband, Frederick. Does that one belong to you?" she asked, indicating the princess with her chin. Her chin, that I wanted to fuck. Dammit. "Yeah, she's mine. Sorry about your, uh, chickenery." "Oh, this happens once every couple of months. That giant is the worst neighbor ever. We don't usually get, uh, visitors this way, though." "Ah'll killim." grumbled Frederick. "Right, um," I said, "I hate to ask, given everything, but do you think we could get the princess a bath or something?" Frederick turned an eye to me. "Princess? Ye the Fairy Godmother, then?" "That's me." Frederick turned back to the princess, who was on her third attempt to stand up on the cum-slick ground. The expression on his face became a sort of goaty version of thoughtfulness. "She a virgin?" "Uh, yeah?" He grunted. "Day may not be a total loss, then. Go help 'er te the house, Sylvie, ah wanna propose something te the fairy." His wife patted his arm. "Of course, sweetie." She began to carefully pick her way toward the princess, calling out, "Come with me, dear, let's get you cleaned up and fed." ---- I took a pull on a corncob pipe Frederick had lit for me. Blowing a stream of contented smoke, I said, "So how can I help you." Exhaling his own cloud, he replied, "Virgin princess'd be useful fer a ritual I..." "Stop!" I interrupted, raising a hand. "Don't tell me the details, there might be something in there that I'd have to prevent if I had foreknowledge. Let me ask a few of questions. Will she survive the ritual?" "Yeap." "Will there be any lasting physical harm?" "Nawp." "Will she still be a virgin afterward? Not necessarily a dealbreaker, by the way." "Yeap." "Last, but most important, can I watch?" He bleats a laugh. "The more the merrier, darlin'." ---- A word about satyrs and nymphs. They're the males and females of the same species, sort of. They're a variety of Earth sprite focused on lust. Nymphs are basically embodied submissive feminine temptation. They don't feed on sexual energy like, say, succubi, but they enjoy it. The more you prefer to be dominant, male or female, the more effect a nymph's charms have on you, which I guess says something about my character. Satyrs, on the other hand, are not about temptation. They're about the power side of sex. You got a rape fantasy, a satyr is the guy you want. They don't exert mental influence, they just exude male. It's not unusual for older nymphs and satyrs to settle down with each other, like Sylvie and Frederick, they're natural complements. Their little farm was so charming I almost squealed. From a distance, Sylvie kneeling down weeding the herb garden was a about as idyllic a scene as you can imagine. Up close, obviously, all you could think about was shoving her face against the dark earth while you yanked up her skirt to fuck her insensible. Frederick didn't quite fit into the pastoral vista, being a seven-foot tall man with cloven-hoofed, backward-kneed, furry legs. And, you know, the head of a goat. He tried, though. The plaid flannel shirt and straw hat were a nice touch. Sylvie had bathed the princess (lucky bitch) and put her to bed on a couch inside their cottage. I spent the rest of the afternoon using gusts of wind to help with the cleanup and some general chores, and finding as many excuses as I could to perch on various bits of Sylvie. She was a good sport about it. In the evening, Frederick went off somewhere to prepare for the ritual, which apparently needed to happen at midnight. Sylvie and I sat on the porch together, sipping lemonade. I found that if I didn't actually look at her I could hold a normal conversation. "So how long have you and Frederick been together?" "Oh," she said, "maybe ten years? Time isn't my strong suit." "Married life suits you?" "Oh sure. Frederick is immune to my influence, you know, which makes things nice. The only thing I don't like is the milf body." "God, you don't have to tell me about magically mandated lard. Once my godmother gig is up and I've got my body back I'm going to fuck my way across half the Sidhe demesne." "Oh, I think you're a cute little thing. Why can't you get laid?" I sighed. "It's a time thing. I'm not sure if you actually spoke to the princess while you were putting her to bed, but if I let her out of my sight for more than a half-hour there's a fifty-fifty chance she'll fall into a vat of boiling oil." Sylvie chuckled. "She did seem a little... um... dim. And that's coming from a sprite who was more or less designed as a bimbo. I'm supposed to be easy to fool." "Right? Well, presuming she survives her little field trip through the forest, it probably won't be too long before I get her married off." "Swing back by here after you do, we'll have a special party for you." I sighed again. "You know what that sounds like, right, Sylvie?" Suddenly I was surrounded by her sweet, warm breath, and her voice was right in my ear. "Of course I do, dear. And I'll invite some friends. I have all kinds of friends." The brief touch of her tongue to the tip of my ear sent shivers down my spine. I shuddered for a moment, and when I turned around to look at her, the porch was empty. I grinned to myself. "You bitch." ---- When midnight approached, Frederick reappeared, and he woke up the princess. Barefoot and wearing one of Sylvie's nighties, she blearily but willingly followed him through a door in the kitchen, trailed by the nymph and yours truly. The door opened onto a set of steps leading down below the farmhouse. As we went deeper, the walls of the corridor shifted from wood to stone blocks to just stone, rough hewn and uneven. The steps were carved out of the same stuff. We went down a long way. Finally, the tunnel opened out onto a large, round, torch-lit chamber. The walls were ringed by stone benches, and Sylvie and I settled on one of those. The center of the chamber was empty save for a large stone alter set in the center. Around it a pentagram was carved into the floor, surrounded by a circle, surrounded by what I think were a bunch of sigils of warding. Written magic ain't my bag. Frederick turned to me while the princess used her toe to examine a sigil. "What ah said holds, fairy. She will not be harmed, though events may lead ye to think so. Sylvie has seen similar rites before, she can answer most of yer questions." Sylvie nods. "He tried to use me to do this once, but it needs a human." "Aye, and if this works, well, the chickens were a small price te pay." I smiled at him, showing as many of my needle-sharp teeth as I can. "I appreciate the reassurance. I'm sure none of us want to invoke the ire of the Winter Court." Which I could actually do, since I still hadn't used the Queen's boon. Frederick just nodded at me. "Aye, just so." Then he turned his attention back to the princess and led her to the alter. With gentle words and a swat on the ass, he got her onto it, and then arranged her until she was lying on her back. He clamped thick metal shackles, graven with their own set of runes, to her ankles and wrists, her arms stretched above her. She took advantage of her position to promptly fall back asleep. Once she was secured, he walked back to us, and Sylvie opened a wicker basket she'd brought down from the kitchen. She pulled out some sandwiches and set them to one side, and then produced from the basket's depths a live chicken, startled out of its nap, and handed it to her husband. He carried it back over to the alter held it over his head, then began chanting. Whispering so as not to interrupt him, I asked "Sandwiches?" "They're for us. This may take a while." "Huh." I stared at her cleavage for another minute or so before I managed to tear my attention away and focus on the goatman. The pentagram around the altar had begun to glow, and the warding circle around that had little sparks of electricity dancing between its runes. Frederick produced a knife from somewhere, chanting louder than ever, and beheaded the chicken with workmanlike efficiency. He dropped the body to the floor next to the altar, where it promptly began to strut around, spraying blood all over the pentagram, like, um, like a chicken with its head cut off. "He'd better not get any blood on that nightie, that's one of my good ones!" Sylvie whispered furiously. Frederick's chanting reached a fever pitch, and the air crackled with contained magical energy. He hit the last syllable of the ritual and there's a crack like a thunderclap in the air. The princess arched up and... nope, she didn't arch up, something was dragging her up off of the altar, and the runes on her shackles are glowing, the only thing keeping her in place. Her eyes had rolled back in her head and her mouth was open in a silent scream. I can see why Frederick took the trouble to say she wouldn't be harmed before the ritual, because my geas was already twitching. Suddenly, she dropped back to the table, breathing heavily, and Frederick lowered his arms and watched her carefully. The sudden silence was thick. Then her eyes snapped open. Well, I say her eyes. The eyes that were in the head of the princess open, but they aren't hers. They were golden with vertical slits, like Frederick's. Then her mouth opened, and a voice that definitely wasn't hers said, "What. The. FUCK." Frederick grinned and said "Hello, Mabel." The princess turned to look at him, more rage (and intelligence) written on her features than I'd ever seen. "How many fucking times do you have to try this before you learn your fucking lesson, you piece of shit?!" She looked past him, to where Sylvie and I were sitting, and said, in a much politer tone, "Oh, hey Sylvie." Sylvie gave her a little wave, and said, "Hiya Mabel!" Then she looked down to where the chicken finally came to rest, still twitching feebly. "You summoned me with a fucking chicken?!" "Mah last chicken, as it happens. Such sacrifices have power." Sylvie began to unwrap a sandwich, breaking off a corner and offering it to me. I took it, and we ate while we watched the show. Mabel was saying, "Great, good, last chicken, whatever, cocksucker. You brought me here, now lets see you keep me." Frederick gestured at her, "Be my guest." Snarling at him one last time, Mabel closed her eyelids, and magic began to crackle in the circle again. The princess's body rose up, straining against the shackles, which glowed more than ever. This lasted perhaps a minute, and then she suddenly slumped back to the alter, panting. Turning back to the goatman, she spat, "Who the fuck did you summon me into?" Leaning down close, the better to gloat, the satyr said, in almost a whisper, "Virgin princess." For the first time, Mabel's features twist into some emotion other than anger. Fear? "You fucker." She sounded almost resigned. "So, uh," I whispered to Sylvie, "What's the deal here? Sounds like there's some history." "Oh yeah," she replied, "Mabel's his ex-wife." "She doesn't seem very, um, nymphly." "Oh, no, she's a demon. It was a short marriage. They didn't part very..." "Amicably?" "Yeah, that." "Why was he married to a demon?" "Oh, he doesn't look it, but he's half-demon. So is she, actually, although I don't know what the rest of her is, we've only ever met when he summoned her." I frowned, thinking for a minute. "Wait, they're both half-demon? Are they blood rela..." "Don't ask don't tell." she interrupted. "Oookay." Meanwhile, Frederick had released the prin... uh, Mabel from the shackles. I would have expected her to try to claw his goaty eyes out, but that apparently wasn't on this ritual's menu. She just lay on the altar in the same pose. "Nae more commentary, betch?" Frederick asks. Mabel just stared at the ceiling. "Right then. Get up off the altar, then bend over it. Face our audience, if ye please." After she was in position, Frederick stopped in front of her. "Now, then, here's the choice. Ye promise te marry that shite ye've been shacked up with for the last decade so's I can stop the alimony payments, and I release the ritual, right here, right now." "Fuck you, asshole. I earned that money." "Nay, ye didn't, but yer about te." He walked around the alter and took position behind her, unfastening his girdle. Sylvie leaned over to me and whispered, "There, see, you can tell he's half demon by his cock." She wasn't wrong. Satyr generally seduce human, or humanoid, women, and have a dick shaped to match that goal. Fredrick's, on the other hand, was enormous, midnight black, and flared at the end like a horse. Sylvie whispered again, "FYI, the princess isn't conscious for any of this, Mabel's the only one in the driver's seat. Part of the balance struck by the ritual is that whatever happens to the vessel follows the victim." I whispered back, "What, like, if she got hurt, Mabel gets hurt instead." Sylvie nods. "Yeah, when the ritual ends, she'll just wake up. There won't be a mark on her." Which was good, because Frederick was in the process strapping the shit out of his ex-wife with the wide leather belt he'd pulled out of his girdle. Mabel had put up a brave face for the first couple of strokes, but she was screaming openly by this point. Demons can be pretty inventive, in terms of invective, by the way. I learned some pretty good new words. The Art of Princess Maintenance Ch. 02 Finally, Frederick had apparently gotten his fill of the belt. Though he hadn't touched it, his cock was glistening and hard. Satyr, gotta love em. He leaned over to whisper something in Mabel's ear, and the word 'NO' began to appear a lot more frequently in her stream of profanity. The goat made a bleating laugh and moved to stand behind her, one hand on the pale skin of the princess's borrowed rump, the other guiding his cock. "Ohh, I know what he said," the nymph whispered, "he told me once that she wouldn't ever give up the butt. You can't say that to a satyr. I think that bugged him more than the alimony." "And you're okay with him fucking her?" She gave me a puzzled glance. "He's a satyr." "Of course, how silly of me." Both of Frederick's hand had a deathgrip on the princess's ass, squeezing her flesh so tightly I was pretty sure she'd have a nice black and blue handprint on each cheek after this was over. His thick shaft was actually bowing slightly with the amount of pressure his hips were applying. Suddenly, his tool straightened out, he released a satisfied bleat, and Mabel's yelling rose to the level of incoherent shrieks. He'd managed to get the tip of his horsecock past her defenses. and she was pounding the altar with her fists, although she seemed unable to move even an inch away from him. I was watching with fascination as inch after inch of his black demon-dick disappeared into the princess's asshole when a connection request came through. The Fairy Godmother Committee chair opened a channel. "I scryed that you were awake and I thought I'd check in for a status update. How's the princess faring?" I glanced from the kindly face of the wizened old fairy to where Frederick was starting to pick up steam plundering the royal ass. "Well, at the moment she's being buttfucked by a half-demon goatman." "Buttfucked by a half-demon goatman, you say." "Yup, buttfucked by a half-demon goatman." "I... see. By her own choice?" "Nope, she's currently possessed by a different demon." I lost the FGC chairman's next reply, because Sylvie, apparently fired up by the show, had slid a pinkie under my skirt and had begun rubbing my fat fairy cunt. "I... uh... no physical harm... gottagobye!" I closed both the channel and my eyes, enjoying the ministrations of the horny nymph. Her other hand was behind her apron, twisting a nipple as she watched her husband simultaneously ream out the asshole(s?) of his ex-wife and a virgin princess. This tableau held for a while, Sylvie fingering me while Frederick bleated contentedly as he took his frustrations out on his shrieking, enraged ex-wife. He didn't seem in a hurry to finish the process, and I decided that his wife and I needed to be a little better acquainted. I moved up off her now-soaking finger and flew right in front of her face, blocking her view. I turned my back to her, lifted by skirts out of the way and bent over. Looking back over my shoulder, I said "Tongue. Now." Like a good, submissive nymph, Sylvie brought up one hand to support me so I didn't have to fly and obediently began to give my cunt and ass a very thorough tongue bath. "Yeah, mmnh, you know what you're good for. Ungh. You don't fucking stop till I say st... ungh oh god oh..." Frederick, meanwhile, had twisted his hands into the princess's hair and drug her back up against him, his full length pistoning in and out of her bowels. Mabel's yelling had taken on a different tenor, and one of her hands had slipped down to rub at the princess's cunt. Some of her shrieks could probably be better classified as moans at this point. Frederick's freakishly long tongue (demon trait?) snaked around between her lips and she let him in willingly, vocalizing around the demonic kiss. I was already bathing his current wife's tongue in the juices of my first orgasm (sue me, I've had a long dry spell). When it subsided, I slumped down in her hand, spent. She wasn't done, though, and she began plucking off my clothes like a barbie doll. Soon she had me naked and unresisting, and was running her warm, velvet tongue over every millimeter of my chubby body while I moaned and writhed. The nice thing about nymphs is it doesn't matter if you have body issues, they have zero issues with your body. It's impossible to be self conscious for very long when something is trying to inhale your sexual organs with obvious enthusiasm. She flipped me onto my belly, and gently cupped me with both of her hands. I nuzzled my cheek against the soft skin of her fingers, then moaned when she began rubbing the muscles of my back with her thumbs, careful of the join of my wings. I felt like I was going to liquefy. She raised me back to her mouth. I lay limp, draped over in her palms, my wings the only part of me moving, as they rose and fell in a desultory wave. I felt the warm cloud of her breath move over me, then cool air as she inhaled my scent. She said, "Oh, you taste so nice. I could just eat you up." I managed to look back over my shoulder at her, her lovely features shrouded by the gossamer of my wings. I was still too far gone to respond with my usual wit, but not too far gone to see how dilated her pupils were. That's a sure sign of a nymph getting her rocks off by getting someone else's rocks off. Her face got even closer to me, and I relaxed my head back down against her soft skin. I shuddered a little when I felt the brush of her tongue across the soles of my feet. By this point, as her lips pressed against my toes and her tongue slipped under me, I would have willingly been a meal. Her lips were heaven against my legs, sliding along my calves, then my thighs, squeezing me each time she drew me a little further into her mouth. Excited puffs of her breath flowed across me, ruffling my wings. Her lips slid over my hips, spreading wider to accommodate my chubby curves, and her tongue splayed my legs apart and began to stroke my fat cunt, which by this point was more than ready for round two. I began to vocalize, and she began using her fingers to help press more of me inside of her. I felt her upper lip reach the join of my wings. She pressed her jaw forward until she managed to push her lower lip over my plump tits. By this point, I was just a head, wings, and a pair of limply dangling arms sticking out of her pretty mouth. Her amazingly nimble tongue began to work my entire body, nipples to toes, pausing occasionally to flick at my pussy. She kept it up for I don't know how long, using her now-empty hands to pleasure herself while she sucked and licked my body to orgasm after orgasm. I just rode there in her mouth, more or less helpless. The few times I managed to uncross my eyes long enough to focus on anything, my view was of the revenge sex on the altar. Mabel was no longer trying to yell anything. She and Frederick had climbed up onto the altar together, and her face was pressed against the cool stone. She was fucking the princess's ass onto her ex-husband's cock with at least as much energy as he was spending trying to split his ex-wife in half. Suddenly, she did start shrieking again, bucking through what looked like a pretty intense orgasm. The thrill of power must have been too much for Frederick, because he threw his head back, goaty eyes wide, and released an ear-piercing scream. I could almost swear I saw moving swells along the shaft of his cock as he pumped a ridiculous amount of goat-demon semen (heh) into my princess. He collapsed onto her, and they both lay there panting for a minute. Then he pulled his softening manhood out of the gaping royal asshole with a wet pop and said, "Now fuck off, ye betch." The ritual released with a crackle of energy, and the belt-marks, neck bites, and, most notably, gaping ruin of an asshole vanished as though they had never been. Well, I mean, her asshole didn't vanish, or anything, it was still there. Just much daintier and prettier and virginal. "She'll leak cum for an hour." he said, helping the princess off the altar. He apparently meant his ex-wife. Hell of a ritual. She was, predictably, confused, still blinking sleepily, but she accepted a sandwich from Sylvie and was willing enough to follow the promise of another few hours of slumber on the couch. The nymph began gathering up everything into her basket, gently carrying my limp (and still damp) form in one hand, and we began the long climb back up to the kitchen. ---- Frederick was pleased as punch with how everything had gone, and in the morning, after breakfast, he'd done his best to convince the princess to go back to the castle, with Sylvie's help. Much to my amazement, she agreed. Sylvie had found her a hooded robe that she could belt and a pair of sandals that mostly fit. Everything else the nymph had was cut to fit her much more generous frame. I thanked her on behalf of the princess, and then took one more grinding ride to orgasm on her sweet tongue right there at the breakfast table. Frederick paused long enough to run a calloused finger in my dress, mauling my tiny breasts, then he left us to it, heading outside to saddle up an old mule he was donating to the cause. So it was in high spirits that I trailed the princess as she rode the mule away from the farm, and it was with no small amount of resignation that I watched her direct it in precisely the wrong direction at the first fork in the trail. Oh well, at least I got laid. ---- Later that night, as the princess snored gently from where she curled next to the warm flank of Puppy the mule (don't ask), I began to drowse on my perch in a nearby tree. Suddenly, with a flash of blinding light and a smell like slightly mildewed apples, a new figure appeared in the forest. Clad in the purest shimmering samite as well as what I'm pretty sure was too much glitter for any self-respecting stripper, a be-robed, be-ringed, glowing, eight foot tall woman stared at me eye to eye from about a foot away. She spake, "Know You Me, Little Sister?" "You!" I gasped, "You're Hecate, goddess of magic and, uh, crickets?" "Close Enough. " she thundered in a voice like the singing of a thousand bats. She leaned close, close enough that I kinda wanted to do an armpit check. Her brows drew together, and with a thund'rous scowl, again she spake, "They Are Not Backward." "I... uh... what?" "Goat Knees Do Not Bend Backward. The Thing You're Calling The Knee Is Actually The Ankle." "uh..." "I Am Displeased When It Is Said That Goats Have Backward Knees. They Do Not." I blink, "Uh, won't happen again." "See That It Does Not." With clap of thunder, she was gone. Puppy the mule was looking at me with a bemused, sleepy expression, but the princess had snored through everything. She stirred slightly, mumbling to herself, farted softly, and was still once more. The Art of Princess Maintenance Ch. 03 Fair warning: This chapter is squicky as hell. Don't read it if you're easily skeeved out by spiders, gnomes, feet, (tree)stumps, pregnancy, hugs, giant spiders, forests, caves, houses, baby spiders, fairies, "mud", princesses, mules, butt stuff, or references to Charlotte's Web. Also, don't read it if the preceding list titillated you, you twisted freak. ---- I'd been woken up that morning by a whuff of air from the nostrils of Puppy the mule, which had been sufficient to shove me off of my branch and squarely into a pile of mud (shut up shut up shut up it was mud). He'd nosed me out of it helpfully, and it was only after I'd taken a reluctant bath in a pool of stumpwater (don't drink water from a stump, children) that I realized that this was his Lassie act, and the princess was missing. I sighed, staring at the laconic mule. "I suppose it's too much to hope she's just stuck down a well." He blinked at me. "Barn on fire?" He lazily twitched one ear, then lowered his head to pluck up a mouthful of the local plant life and began to chew contentedly. "Fuck." I fluttered up out of the stump and waited for the surface of the small pool to still. Concentrating briefly, I cast a simple scry, on the assumption that she couldn't have made it far yet. The picture firmed up at about the same time an adult female drider was putting the finishing touches on a cocoon around the princess, which means the first thing I saw was gross, disgusting spider ass squirting moist silk thread all over the perky tits of my charge. Ugh. Drider are sort of distantly related to Winter fae like me, but when I say distant, I mean on the order of millenia. Supposedly one of the high ladies of the Winter Court got busy with one of the old world spider gods at some point (don't judge) and bam, new monster race. Come to think of it, that's more or less how a lot of the races I'm familiar with came into being. Huh. Anyway, drider are matriarchal. Extremely so. I don't think there's a way, really, to tell a male drider apart from a regular gross, disgusting spider. They're just oh-god-stomp-on-it-oh-shit-it-ran-under-the-couch sized. Only the females look like giant purple humans with gigantic, bloated spider bodies where their legs should be. And only the females are sensitive to magic. Like the one in my scrying pool, which had turned to face my point of view, and then skittered up close to it so fast I almost peed. She peered back up through the surface of my spell for a second. Then she yelled "Deuces!", made a double peace sign and flashed a duck face. I had just enough time to say "Uh..." before she countered my spell and the scene vanished "Shit." Puppy the mule made no comment. He just continued chewing, not pausing even as he lifted his tail to add some more mud to the forest floor. -------- The drider's cave hadn't been far, and it had been kind enough to drop its wards, if it had any (there aren't too many things a giant spider needs to be scared of, even in this forest). It still took us a half hour to get there, because while Puppy the mule seemed determined to follow me to the princess, he also seemed determined to do it at the pace of a doddering old man. The spider-queen was perched above the entrance to its cave, playing cat's cradle with some glistening silk. I was sitting between Puppy's long ears, where we'd negotiated things such that I could guide him with a gentle touch to one ear or the other, followed by three minutes of screaming at him as loudly as I could. It looked up when it heard the clop clop of our approach. "Sup, cuz. Nice ride." It covered the twenty yards between us in a with a simple leap, landing better than a ton of spider and woman right next to us with barely a whisper. I won't say I didn't flinch, but Puppy didn't even twitch an ear. The drider did something complicated with the web in its hands, and then strung it up in the tree branched above Puppy's head. I fluttered up to look. It was a web with the words 'SOME PIG' spelled out in careful, shimmering threads. "It would work better if he actually was a pig." I said. "I think it's funnier this way. So what's up with the uninvited eyeball spell? Blondie yours?" "Godmother duty." "Oh, a princess. That's a bitch. Well, come on in." Said the spider to the small thing with wings. -------- The cave was actually pretty nice, all things considered. Bunch of non-drider type furniture, presumably for non-drider type guests. All of which was made with spidersilk, hardened by some sort of shellac I don't want to spend too much time thinking about. "She's back here. Still asleep, I gave her a pretty big dose." "She had a pretty late night, too. Thanks for not being a bitch about this." "Meh, I almost didn't take her in the first place. I got a pretty good set of regulars." "Uh, regulars?" "Mhmm. I'll show you." She led me to a connected cavern, much larger than her actual living quarters. This was pretty much just pure cave, stalagmites, stalactites, damp dripping sounds, the whole bit. A few meters above our heads, suspended among some of the rocky teeth growing from the ceiling were perhaps two dozen cocoons. All of them except the princess were finished, hiding their occupants completely. Her head was still uncovered, the spider having apparently paused in her work when she detected my spell, and her feet stuck out the other end of the webbing. She was hanging in the same position I'd scryed in the stumpwater. "It is good you showed up when you did, though. I got a pretty full load right now, and she's kinda hot." said the drider, rubbing the area where her lower belly shifted into the smooth chitin of her spider half. I shuddered as she turned away from me. She skittered up the wall to the princess, detached her, and brought her back down to where I was hovering above the cavern floor. She laid the girl down carefully. "I'll help you load her onto the mule in a bit. You're gonna want to let the web cure for a day or so, if we try to get her out now it will take some of her clothes and skin with it." "Fair enough. So, uh," I said, gesturing to the ceiling, "regulars?" "Yup." She got an evil grin on her face. "Wanna watch me with one? It kinda gets me off when someone watches." Now, you probably don't know this, due to my fair and balanced narration, but spiders skeeve me the fuck out. Nothing needs that many legs, and this bitch was fucking big. Like, okay, if you took her from the waist up, right, the human-looking part? If she had human legs to match that she'd be eight fucking feet tall. Well, with her spider body, she's twelve, easy. That said, she was pretty cool about things, vis-a-vis Fairy Godmother duties, and I'm not sure I would have been able to take her without using up my boon, if she'd decided to be a bitch. Also, you know, I kinda feel like if I can help a sista get her rocks off, it's kinda my moral duty to do so. "Fuck it, why not." She lit up with a terrifying, bladder-loosening smile. "Great! Hang out one second, I gotta figure out which one has been here longest, to be fair." She made a standing leap straight up into the air. She caught a stalactite with one of her human hands and allowed her grip and the momentum of her jump to pivot her spider-body around to put her feet to the ceiling. There were apparently no grip issues, because she started skittering around up there upside down just as fast as she had been on the ground. She began communing with each of the cocoons, some of which moved slightly at her touch, a couple of which struggled fairly violently. Whatever was in them was alive, but I have no idea how they were getting air. She finally settled next to one that was squirming pretty energetically and plucked it free of its moorings. Her legs released their grip on the roof of the cave and she fell, spinning, to lightly land on her feet a few yards away from us. She walked with the cocoon over to two large stalagmites (didn't think I knew which was which, did you?) sticking up out of the floor. With efficiency borne of centuries of practice, she suspended the cocoon between upright them, suspended a couple of feet above the floor. The tall stone spikes wore webbing residue that indicated she'd used them for this purpose many, many times before. She stepped in front of the cocoon and built a tiny web between two much smaller stone columns, a few feet away. "Here you go, cuz, best seat in the house." I obligingly flew to settle in the little hammock she'd made for me, which was not at all sticky. It was actually kinda pimp, she'd left a cutout for my wings, so I could kick back, Caesar style. She'd moved back behind the cocoon, which was roughly the size and shape of your average humanoid. Even suspended as it was, she towered over it. She lowered her head to it and inhaled, closing her eyes as she ran her hands over its contours in a proprietary fashion. She smiled at me over the what I assumed was the shoulder of her victim, and said, "Time to get the party started." She moved her face level with the lump of silk I assume was the head of the cocoon's occupant. She began murmuring, and the figure began to struggle again. She ran her hands over its curves again, which, once I really paid attention, were pretty obviously those of a female. Or at least obviously those of something with half-decent tits. One of her hands paused over the crotch, and I noticed that while they were joined together at the bottom, the victim's thighs were individually bound, allowing the spider-woman to slip her hand between them. The drider took its other hand and delicately ran a wickedly sharp fingernail up the centerline of her victim's face, neatly splitting the web cocooning it. The features thus revealed were clearly those of a dryad, a wood sprite bound to a particular tree. The skin was nut-brown and patterned with lines like wood rings, and the hair was a pageboy cap of green hair cut into layered, fluttering leaves. The drider pulled back enough of the concealing web to free the dryad's head, which leaned back and moaned in something that did not sound at all like distress. "This little lovely is named Holly. She's part of a grove that enjoys the protection my little boys provide from tree pests. Aren't you, Holly?" Holly didn't seem capable of rational response at the moment. A little dribble of drool escaped the corner of her open mouth. "Holly's grove likes my little boys so much that they take turns volunteering to bring a new batch home every year. And this year is Holly's turn, isn't it, sweetling." Holly didn't reply, but she did immediately begin sucking on the finger the drider brushed across her plump lips. "I don't think she'd admit it to the others, but Holly quite likes my venom." The drider moves her other hand across the part of the cocoon covering Holly's flat belly. "I also think she likes carrying my little boys." She pressed on the dryad's stomach, and in addition to moaning a little more loudly, Holly's hips begin to thrust as best they could within the confines of the tight webbing. "This isn't her first time here. In fact, I wish I'd kept track, because I think Holly may be volunteering a little more often than the others." The spider's human hand moves from the dryad's belly, slipping over her hip and behind her, a single long finger reappearing as it slides between the wood sprite's cocooned thighs from behind. The finger curls up to lay snugly atop the tree spirit's concealed snatch. I caught myself breathing fast as I watches the drider's sharp fingernail begin to cut open a slit, drawing down and back, unzipping the web to expose the mossy thatch of the dryad's pussy. Holly, for her part, had turned her face up to her captor, and was currently on the receiving end of a very invasive kiss. The drider's human arms moved away from her prey, stretching out to either side to grasp the very tips of the stalagmites she'd strung the cocoon in between. She hauled herself up, never breaking the kiss, until all of her spider legs were braced on the stone to either side of her captive. From my viewpoint she framed the framing the small sprite like a giant arachnid shadow. Her enormous abdomen drew up, and from the end, where you might expect a wasp to keep its stinger, a glistening, translucent phallus began to extrude, dripping lewdly as more of its length pulsed into view. The tip curled up and disappeared behind the dryad, still trapped in an endless kiss with her predator, only to reappear as it insinuated itself between her thighs. It paused a moment just below the furry mound of her pussy, barely brushing her lower lips. Holly's hips began to jerk with renewed fervor, and with no further ceremony the invader began to slip inside, seeking the womb of the helpless 'victim'. I could hear Holly's vocalizations, despite the fact that her lips were still trapped beneath the hungry mouth of the drider. Somewhere deep in her sex, the tip of the spider's ovipositor found the opening of the sprite's womb, and insinuated itself inside, creating a clean, tight seal between the two creatures. The spider woman finally broke off the kiss, leaving the dryad's head to hang limply, moaning at the violation. The drider turned her face to the ceiling, closed her eyes, and concentrated on her own sensations as I watched the first bundle pulse its way up the semi-transparent sheath of her egg-laying organ. The width of the package bumped up against the narrower confines of the dryad's pussy, and spider and sprite both gasped as it began to force its way inside, followed closely by many, many more. For the next few minutes, the only steady movement were the bulges of egg sacs being pumped into the helpless wood sprite. Occasionally she or her captor would moan or grunt as the impregnation proceeded. Eventually the burgeoning swell caused by the dense crowding in her womb forced the slit in the cocoon wider, until her slowly growing belly pushed its way free, hanging gravid before her. I'd long given up on any pretense of dignity, and I was far too turned on by the obscene violation for a little thing like the inherent repulsiveness of the process to bother me anymore. I lay in my little hammock, skirt drawn up over my fat hips, flicking the bean for all I was worth. The dryad's formerly taut stomach approached goblin-cum levels of distortion as she was filled to bursting with tens of thousands of the drider's offspring. Finally, finally, the spider released a gusting sigh, and her slick phallus slipped out of her prey, falling to the cavern floor with a wet slap, looking as spent as the overfilled, groaning wood-sprite. She climbed down from her perch behind the pillars and moved around them to come sit on the rough stone beside me. Looking down at me, she watched me play with myself until I began to shudder with my own release. Then she grinned and said, "So, was it good for you?" -------- True to her word, she carried the princess out to where Puppy was chilling under his web, which he was oddly reluctant to move out from underneath. Eventually Gertrude (look, not everything magical has to have a name with thirty vowels and an apostrophe) pulled down the web and spit on it, running her human hands and the tips of her spider forelegs along its delicate lines while Puppy looked on with mulish consternation. After a few moments of this, she took the glistening result of her work and gently draped it around his neck. So now Puppy had a fancy, sparkly bib with 'SOME PIG' spelled out on it, and he wore a beatific expression as we draped the cocooned form of the princess across his back. "It's not fireproof or anything, but he can't hurt it by getting it wet, now. I can always make him another one." said Gertrude. "I'm pretty sure all three of us will be eaten by something long before it becomes an issue. How long is the princess gonna be knocked out like that?" "You should have time to get her out of the web first. Another day at least. She'll be suuuper horny when she wakes up, but that wears off in another few hours." I sigh. "If you knew anything at all about her you would understand just how terrifying that is." "Nobody says you have to let her out of the web. I usually don't until they're so full of eggs they can barely walk." This statement was underscored by a small gaggle of newly arrived dryads helping their recently impregnated sister out of the cave, and into the sunlight. This process was not sped by the fact that Holly wasn't all that interested in walking anywhere, but was extremely interested in making out with anything she could reach. Gertrude waved to them and shouted, "Hey, Juniper! Is it your turn next season? I know where you like it!" Most of the tree sprites laughed uproariously at this, and one of them let go of the pregnant dryad long enough to make a rude gesture to the spider queen. She paid for it when Holly used her free arm to make a grab for Juniper's crotch. Gertrude laughed and turned back to me. "She didn't want to do her bit for the grove a few seasons ago, so her sisters tied her up and brought her to me themselves. Let's just say I don't actually have to use a pussy for what I do, I just need a warm hole. Gave them a pretty big clutch that year, too. Rumor is that ever since then Juniper's developed a bit of a kink for, uh, non-traditional sex." "Gertrude, no offense, but I don't think it gets much more non-traditional than you." "Whatever, tubby. You got your rocks off too." I grinned up at the purple bitch. "You know, for a gross, disgusting spider, you're a pretty cool slut." "Likewise, lardass. If you survive your princess, swing back by sometime." -------- Puppy the mule made his plodding way down the trail I picked, the princess gently bobbing where Gertrude laid her over his back. Unfortunately the trail devolved into something more closely resembling a game path after a few hundred yards, which slowed puppy down to a pace that took our forward motion into nearly theoretical territory. With darkness approaching, I needed to start thinking about where I was going to park us for the night. Soon it was dark enough that I couldn't see more than ten or fifteen feet past the mule's nose. With a couple of gentle nudges and a stream of profane screams into one of his ears, I guided him off the trail toward something that vaguely hinted at being a clearing. It was, in a sense. It became obvious, though, when I heard a crunch beneath one of Puppy's hooves followed by a high, pitched, grating voice yelling "AH-HAH!" that said clearing was already occupied. Dozens of mushrooms on the trees around began to glow with bio-luminescent light, making it easy to see what we'd stumbled into. Sighing, and already knowing what I was going to see, I turned toward the source of the voice. Standing in a doorway inset into the wide base of one of the trees was a goddamned forest gnome. Wearing a nightgown and sleeping cap, clutching a lit candle in a little dish, and pointing an accusing finger at Puppy, he shrieked, "My garden! My garden! You crushed my beautiful garden!" -------- One thing every gnome I've ever met shares is a massive persecution complex, which makes them an almost completely universal pain in the ass to deal with. That's not to say they that they aren't persecuted. Gnomes have a pretty shitty time of it. Like humans, they aren't bound to a particular school of magic, but unlike humans, they don't have much capacity for it. Between that, their diminutive size, homeliness, and the fact that they only seem to come with one personality type (irritating), they're probably the most bullied magical creatures on this plane. It took me half an hour to convince this one that Puppy hadn't intentionally destroyed his front yard, that it was an honest mistake, and that we were lost. The Art of Princess Maintenance Ch. 03 Now I was sitting across from the whiny asshole in his little tree cottage negotiating compensation. "What do you mean you don't have any money?! Who goes anywhere with no gold?!" I sighed. "It wasn't a planned trip. We don't have anything." He squints out the window to the spot he'd made me tie Puppy so he could keep an eye on him. "Then what's that big white bag on your horse?" "That's a princess." He glares at me for a minute, trying to figure out if I'm making fun of him. I continued. "I'm serious. It's a princess wrapped in the web of a drider we ran into this morning." Something in his manner relaxes. "Gertrude?" "That's the one." "Gertrude's a good neighbor. She's nice to me, and she scares off the riff-raff." He glances back out the window at Puppy and scowled, "Mostly." "Yeah, she's a real good egg. Layer. Anyway, I don't know what I can do for you. If we manage to get back to the castle, I guess you could come visit sometime, I'm pretty sure the King would cough up a few doubloons." He was still staring out the window while he waved away my suggestion with the flap of a hand. "No offense, lady, but I don't peg your odds too high." It was hard to argue with that. After a moment he continued, "This princess of yours, is she fair?" "I've never known her to be anything less than equitable." That earned me another scowl. I kept my expression bland. Some people need to be fucked with, whether they know it or not. "Are those her... her feet?" "I promise she's not ugly enough for those to be her face. That's on the other end." He barely paid any attention to my response. He used an oversize handkerchief to mop at his suddenly sweaty bald pate. "I think... I think we may be able to come to... an arrangement." "Please tell me this arrangement has nothing to do with her feet." He bit a rubbery lower lip and stared at me, nervously twisting his handkerchief with his fists. I lowered my face into my cupped hands and released an explosive sigh. Rubbing my temples and looking back up, I said, "Fine. But those are royal feet. I think you'll agree that whatever you have in mind eclipses the value of your cabbage patch." He narrowed his gaze, a cunning gleam blooming therein like a runaway case of pinkeye. "That beast crushed half of my garden-humans!" I just stared at him, unwilling to let the death of chintzy, cheap, plaster figurines shift the needle. He sighed. "What do you propose?" "You put us up for the night, and in the morning you give me enough food for the princess for, say, three days. You get to... do your thing, in the morning, before we leave. Not tonight." He mopped at his head again. "As long as it takes, in the morning." I thought for a minute. "We won't leave until noon, but we will leave at noon, and the mule gets to graze on your garden while you do your business, to lend you some urgency. And, loathe as I am to stipulate this, you will not touch her without me present to witness." I really wasn't eager to be there, but I'll trust a giant poisonous spider queen any day over a gnome with a foot fetish. He enthusiastically gestured assent to my requirements. Then he said, "I know you find this distasteful. I can see it on your face. If you're going to be there during, I want you to... talk to me. During." "Uh..." "I want you to tell me what you really think of me." I began to get the idea. "With pleasure. Now help me get her inside. I don't want that cocoon to turn into concrete if it rains on her. If you do most of the work, I'll give you a little preview of what I think of you tonight." It's amazing how strong a motivated gnome is. -------- Look, I know that I've described the humpy parts of the adventure in pretty graphic detail so far, but I saw things the next morning that... I'm not predisposed to sympathy, for anything, but I was truly grateful that the princess was still knocked out while that greedy little gnome had his way with her young (virgin? I guess?) feet. I do have to say, though, it's pretty interesting making a guy get off by telling him how pathetic he is. I won't say I got turned on, exactly, but I do intend to try insulting some hotter guys and seeing where it goes. The idea of a Sidhe noble groveling like that gnome did... mmm. If I manage not to use it, and we manage to survive, I think I just figured out what I'll use my boon from the Winter Queen for. I think she might understand. "That's all you've got in you, you sad little bitch? You haven't even half a dozen times. There's still a half hour until noon, and Puppy's just found your carrots." That last part was actually a lie. Puppy had finished off the carrots an hour ago, and was currently making strong inroads into the radishes. I'd done my best to convey that he was on a timer, and he seemed to have taken the information to heart. "ohhhhh... ohhhhh..." "You couldn't even reach her feet from the floor like that. You just came all over yourself the last couple of times. I don't know why I even bothered making a deal with you, there's no way something with a dick that small is any good at magic. I should have just kicked your ass and made you sleep outside. I'm sure the mule would have enjoyed spending the night in here." "ohhhhh... ohhhhh pleeease..." "So are we done here, stumpcock?" I have to admit that by this point it was kind of impressive when his thoroughly spent manhood twitched and started to harden again under my abuse. -------- So, I learned something. Help a gnome clean his pipes and he's a completely different person. He washed his, uh, attentions off of the princess's feet, and once I'd had a chance to make sure the webbing had cured, he gently cut the cocoon off her with a pair of garden shears. We loaded her onto Puppy, who we found practicing mudmaking a little ways into the forest. His stomach bulged with the yield of about thirty percent of the gnome's garden. He was logy with digestion, but fairly cooperative (for a mule). I chatted with the gnome for a while longer, and between the two of us we made a best guess as to the direction of the castle from his little homestead. He made a couple of suggestions about the trails we should try while he loaded Puppy with enough food to feed the princess for at least two weeks, and I told him that while he probably wouldn't ever get a shot at her feet again (depending on how kinky her eventual beau was), if I was ever back to visit Gertrude I'd make sure to swing by and share my opinions at him again. "If I'm honest, Mistress, if I'd known how good you were at um, opinions, I wouldn't have asked for the princess at all." "That's flattering, I think. Maybe. I won't say I completely hated the experience. Worm." -------- The princess started to wake up a few hours later, announcing this by moaning and grinding against Puppy where she was draped over him. Puppy did not enjoy the process, and about the fourth time she dazedly groped forward and tried to jack off one of his ears he bucked her off as gently as anyone has ever been bucked off of anything. She flew off of his back and, with the sort of miraculous agility reserved for idiots and people who are just the right amount of drunk, she landed on her feet. She stood still for a moment, swaying and panting, staring off into the middle distance. Puppy and I watched her with the sort of resigned foreboding best reserved for daily mortar bombardments. Then she began to emit a sort of keening moan, startlingly loud in the relative peace of that part of the forest. She collapsed to the ground, briefly dropping to all fours. Using her hands to give her a little extra starting thrust, she exploded into a full speed sprint. She blasted past me, oblivious as always, her wail dopplering creepily and stunning me for a couple of moments. By the time my ass thumped onto the ground, she'd vanished into the undergrowth, leaving only a gaping, princess-shaped hole in the leaves and the echoes of her terrible cry. After I recovered and fluttered up to my seat between Puppy's ears, he wasted no time in (sort of) hurrying after her. There was no time to lose. The princess... was on the hunt. The Art of Princess Maintenance He reached down to grasp his shaft, then, with the concentration borne of a thousand hunts, he watched the irregular pattern of the opening and clothing of the imbecile's mouth. Choosing his moment, he struck! And so, the princess's first taste (literally) of cock was green and probably a little sour. It was a hot day. She didn't seem extremely perturbed by events, just confused, which must have been a familiar and comforting emotion for her. She did keep trying to say something, which just let the goblin get his cock a little bit deeper inside each time her jaw moved. Finally it was clear that he was all the way in to the entrance of her throat, as he stopped making easy progress. He reached to get a grip on each of her ears, and then grit his teeth and continued to push forward. The princess finally began to indicate some sign of distress, although if I had to guess it was less because of the oral rape and more because her tiny brain realized that something was depriving it of oxygen. Finally, the warrior's brave cock must have defeated her throat's defenses, because the last few inches of his green spear vanished abruptly, disappearing between the royal lips. The royal throat provided more evidence, as it suddenly swelled with the advent of its intruder. The princess's eyelids were fluttering, and I gave her about a half a minute of consciousness before she ran out of air. The warrior didn't seem interested in thrusting, just in getting as deep as possible. Apparently satisfied with his efforts, the shaman approached from behind and touched the tip of her staff to his dangling balls, currently draped across the princess's chin. She said another word of power, and I watched his green nuts tighten and convulse. The princess's eyes went wide again as a torrent of hot goblin cum shot directly into her belly. In a dozen seconds it was over, and the warrior pulled his tool out of her with an audible pop, trailing drool and cum from her lips. He swayed where he was, perched on her tits, and a couple of his buddies at the front of the queue quickly stepped forward to help him dismount her and stumble away. The princess, for her part, just looked confused, and was breathing heavily to make up her oxygen debt. She kept smacking her lips and licking them, as though she was trying to figure out if she liked the taste of something. I figured she'd have plenty more chances to decide, as the next goblin in the queue was scrambling up to stand on the shelf of her udders. He gave her a another few seconds to breathe, and then pushed himself inside her without ceremony. Things went more quickly for this new invader, as when he got to the ear-gripping phase her throat just threw up its arms and surrendered, showing the grotesque bulge of complete insertion a moment later. The shaman stepped forward to provide the requisite shot in the balls, and the princess was getting her second course of monster semen direct deposited. The warrior pulled himself out and scrambled down, and the next goblin in the queue began to scale Mount Bigtitty. The princess seemed to understand her role, finally, and simply opened her mouth as wide as she could for each new warrior, placidly accepting them into her throat and their issue into her belly as though this is what she'd been doing for years. Given her IQ, it wouldn't surprise me if she couldn't remember a time when she wasn't being fed disturbing amounts of liquid protein. Over time, an interesting change began to manifest. I don't know what the average volume of a load of goblin cum drained straight from the balls is, but it soon became clear that the princess had had more than she was designed to hold. As she gamely hosted each new cock, the deposited load went straight into her belly, and said belly was beginning to visibly bulge. The shaman had promised no permanent harm, and I was enjoying vicarious revenge on the little moron (kinda wished I had a cock, at that moment), so I held my peace and waited to see how things would develop. The princess had swallowed maybe ten percent of the village's available cum supply, based on the line, and I wasn't sure she wouldn't simply blow up if they kept feeding it to her. But she'd been so much trouble to me, for so long, that in the moment I was willing to risk another stint as a Godmother just so I could watch her detonate in some sort of cumsplosion. My geas twitched, but didn't force me to action. So, over the course of the next couple of hours, I watched as her taut, flat stomach developed a little pudge, then a cute potbelly, then the few-months-pregnant look, then the ready-to-pop pregnant look, and finally, as the last goblin warrior pulled out of her slack lips and released its grip on her abused ears, the sweet-mother-of-god-what-is-inside-of-that-woman look. After the warrior had clambered down, the dazed princess seemed to realize that no more were forthcumming (heh). She blinked a couple of times, hiccuped, and then released an earth-shaking belch that must have been 90% vaporized semen. I'm glad I wasn't in the path of that little cloud. The goblins all stared at her with open mouths, muttering to one another, and then one began clapping. Soon the entire village was applauding her burp (a popular goblin sport, as it turns out), and the princess beamed at them over the bulbous swell of her tits and belly. Finally, the shaman issued a few commands, and a half dozen warriors came forward. They untied the princess, then helped her slump forward onto all fours, her distended belly and fat tits actually dragging on the ground. The shaman climbed up on her back, and using a leather strap as a goad, whipped the princess until she began to crawl slowly forward, grunting with the effort. A pair of warriors on either side of her head kept her moving in the right direction, and the procession made its way slowly to the center of the village, where another dozen warriors were busy lashing together some sort of construct. Eventually the princess arrived, and the goblins guided her up onto a low platform, showing her were to rest her hands and knees. Once she was settled, they ran a strap under her, cinching it up just below her breasts so they could dangle free, and another just below the huge swell of her belly. Smaller ropes were used to secure her wrists and ankles above her. Then, with the effort of a quarter of the village pulling on the ropes, they lifted her up a meter or two and slid the platform out from under her. So, the princess was essentially hanging in space below a tripod made of three trees lashed together at the top. Two warriors rolled a large, empty barrel under her and turned it up so the open end waited just below her fat nipples. The shaman approached and poked the princess's gigantic royal belly with her staff. There was a loud gurgle from deep inside her, and the princess groaned. The shaman moved to stand in front of her. Extending her staff so that it rested on the princess breastbone once more, the shaman spoke another word of power. The princess shuddered, groaned again, and then, like someone had thrown a spigot, thick streams of milk(?) began to shoot out of her enormous tits, hitting the bottom of the barrel so hard that a few droplets managed to splash all the way back out. The next bit was a little confusing, as the barrel was large enough to stuff the princess into, even with her new anatomy, but when it got about three quarters full, the goblins rolled up another one and stood it up beside it, clearly anticipating that there would be enough liquid to overfill the first. And so there was. When the liquid in the first barrel threatened to spill out, a goblin leaned in from each side of the princess and clamped their hands around a nipple. It must have been painful to stop the flow, because the princess immediately began to whine piteously. The goblins wasted no time sealing the first barrel and levering it out of the way, and as soon as the empty one was in position they allowed the titflow to resume its apparently endless torrent. ---- By the time the princess was about halfway through filling her third barrel, I realized her stomach had shrunk considerably. Don't ask me to explain the anatomy of what was going on, I'm not an Earth magus, and magic has some pretty screwy rules. In the end, she filled up just shy of ten barrels with whatever the fuck was coming out of her, and the goblins were fairly dancing with glee. Her belly had returned to its pristine tight, flat state, and her breasts had assumed their previous size and perkiness. The princess had passed out somewhere around the time they pinched her off to move in the eighth barrel, and was now snoring gently from her truss. -"So what is that stuff?"- I asked the shaman. We were sharing a pipe while we watched them carefully lower her. -"Still cum. When you refine it through a virgin, it becomes a narcotic to pixies. They don't know what it's made of, and they pay us through the nose for it. Usually we get about half a barrel from doing this, I suppose a royal virgin is what makes the difference. We'll be up to our armpits in pixiedust for years."- -"You do know what pixiedust is made of, right?"- She turned a yellow eye to me. -"No, and I don't want to."- I laughed. -"Well, thanks for keeping your word. Can you do me a favor, and try to convince her to go back to the castle when she wakes up? I can't reveal myself to her until there's a Genuine Romantic Crisis."- -"I could just spell her into it."- -"No, I can't be involved in the subversion of her will. It was fine when you did it before, because you didn't tell me you were going to, but foreknowledge is a no-no."- -"Very well."- We watched as her tribe carried the princess bodily into one of their longhouses, where they'd set up a human-sized pallet for her to sleep on. I asked, -"So, uh, you wouldn't happen to have any pixiedust on hand right now, would you?"- She grinned as she reached for a small pouch at her waist. ---- I was in the throes of a pretty heavy 'dust hangover while I watched despairingly as the shaman tried to convince the princess to go back to the castle. Long story short, the conversation ended when the princess smiled at the aged wizardess and patted her on the head. Then, wearing a leather halter top and breeches the goblins had been kind enough to craft for her (and which, I had to admit, were really hot on her), the princess blithely began her journey deeper into the forest. Sighing, I hauled my fat fairy ass up into the air to follow.