Cinderella: An Erotic Fairy Tale Ch. 06

Katsky

Peckerheads and Trolls - flashing memories of a Blacksmith and Two-Backed Beasts - a Crystal Ball and a Mind-Fuck - Men of the War Wang - More Blues - fellating in the Knocked-up Bride - the Goddess of Burlesque (Hubba hubba) - Butterflies and Rhinos - the Kat Came Back - a Triumph of Lust.

As the lovely, lusty agents of sexual carnage - that is to say, Rose, Violet and Daisy - approached the advancing forces of the Tyrant, they saw the shimmer they had been too preoccupied to notice earlier. "That's probably bad," opined Violet. Although they had no idea of its source, they guessed it was the force that had tried to take away their powers.

"We'd better get started, then," said Rose.

"My goodness," said Daisy, looking at the troops massed below. "There are certainly a lot of them!"

Hands joined, they concentrated both their thoughts and their energy. They began to glow again, as the magic the fairy godmother had harvested from all over the land crackled around them ... and then the full force of Dryadia's distilled lust lashed out across the plain.

As this newest wave swept over them, the hapless soldiers transformed randomly into various remarkable forms, both Fauna and (occasionally) Flora.

Centaurs, being fresh on the Sorceresses' minds, were common. But so too were nubile nymphs - naiads, dryads and all the sundry other varieties of blushing, budding, come-hither sprite/maidens - plus countless satyrs to service them all. Which they promptly did, once they had managed to catch the teasing young things and free them of their tattered, ill-fitting remnants of uniform.

Some of these newly minted girls, gloriously naked, led their sex-crazed pursuers a merry chase, being mounted on horses (now unicorns) or on great, galloping, four-legged penises. Others, soaring astride equally huge flying phalluses, had discovered that a knob on the back of these creatures was perfect for penetrating their pretty pussies - plus keeping them in the saddle, as it were, as they swooped and shrieked merrily about. And one or two plump lasses simply let themselves be caught and violated by a flock of pecker-headed geese, whose flexible necks and beakless, bulbous heads were the perfect height for the task.

Some invaders became horny elves or randy bearded dwarves (of either sex, or sometimes both). Others found themselves, no doubt deservedly, in the form of quite monstrous creatures: aroused golems, tumescent trolls and troglodytes, big-breasted lamiae, and even a few Medusa babes - whose hair didn't so much writhe as fornicate. The latter could not actually turn anyone to stone, but were sufficiently beautiful, snakes notwithstanding, to make nearby satyrs extremely hard.

Likewise, there were some who'd become succubae and incubi (these being rather plump and lazy given the abundance of excess sexual energy to be harvested); and a good number more had taken root ... and were now flowering shrubberies that could entangle, entwine and impregnate any female that passed near enough.

And everywhere overhead, newly formed fairies and flying phalluses fluttered, all fornicating together in tumbling, humping flocks. As they swirled around the hovering Lust Sorceresses (along with a few local putti who seemed to have been attracted to all the commotion), Rose summed up her assessment of the scene.

"Well," she said. "That seems to be an improvement!"

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Meanwhile, Katsky crawled onto the muddy bank of the lake into which she had plummeted, thanks to the same force that baffled the Sorceresses ... launched, she knew, by her employer - the wizard Memphisto. She was surprised to discover how soft water wasn't, when greeted at speed, albeit still preferable to the alternative (i.e. not water).

Also surprising was that her life had actually, and as advertised, flashed before her eyes on the way down. The slideshow of doom began with the day she'd first started to shapeshift, and her mother's consternation at dealing with her young daughter slipping from one form into another. Initially, kittens and puppies had predominated, but soon (thanks to her picture books) she'd started to broaden her horizons.

The second memory was of the first time her mother had fitted her with a collar and leash when they went for their walk, having tired of trying to coax home a small zebra or tiger or ostrich. Of course, when transformed she was still Katsky inside, but she couldn't help herself from capering or whirling or growling - depending on how she guessed such creatures might behave.

Next was the occasion she'd discovered how fiercely supportive her mother was, when Mamma had attacked the village blacksmith for a passing insult (which was deserved - Katsky had been trying out pigginess that day). Her mother had wrestled with the man, until by and by he was on his back with Mamma astride him, her hands on her belly and her skirts flapping over his hips as she humped up and down ... Oh, Katsky thought, as she fell. I'd forgotten that bit until now. At any rate, he'd always been friendly after that, and with his support the other neighbours had wisely chosen accept her. Indeed, they seemed to take a communal pride in keeping her safe and secret.

And then came that time, much later, when her mother finally told her how she - Katsky - had been the result of a liaison with a tall, dark and handsome stranger who had passed through their village. She had been old enough by then to suspect that he'd likely given her mother some clue in that hayloft - something which would explain Momma's relative lack of surprise with her daughter's talents. He probably fucked her like a weasel. Literally, she thought. And then, because they were her parents, she'd mentally added, Ewww! At any rate (and to her mother's obvious satisfaction), he probably hadn't dallied anywhere else in Gridiron, since they were unaware of any other shapeshifters thereabouts.

There would have been further reminiscences - she was looking forward to a replay of her own first roll in the hay with a lad (an unsuspecting and deeply shocked young fellow from the next village) - but the lake had abruptly intervened.

Now she lay in the mud and noted idly that three or four nearby floating logs had opened their eyes to gaze at her with interest. Crocodiles, she thought. Or are they alligators? She could never remember which was which. Slowly, she came to her senses. The wizard had fucked her over - twice. Robbing her of her ability to sustain her raven form, she knew, had not been deliberate. Friendly fire as it were. Even though it had nearly killed her, she disregarded the offence. But robbing her of her will! For that, she would ... Her ragged line of thought was interrupted by a series of splashes - more croc-igators were joining the others from nearby banks. Time to leave.

Although Katsky had never previously met any citizens Dryadia, she was not adverse to mix-and-match. So when she took the form of a lion, with the head and wings of an eagle, and the firm titties of a woman, she was unaware that she was effectively a gryphon (albeit a smallish one, given the whole conservation of mass issue). Her main consideration was that she could take apart Memphisto quickly, surprise him before he could use his considerable magical talents.

With a great leap, she launched into the air, to the great disappointment of the approaching lizards (which were, as it happened, most nearly crocodiles - but were able to stand up and dance most elegantly when the mood took them). She was barely fifty feet up when she felt the wizard fuck with her mind.

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As soon as he'd sent Katsky to check on the battle, Memphisto had tuned in his crystal ball. It was not going well. The Tyrant's strategy had been simple: just a feint to right, at the South Gate - and a jump to the left, where the main force would drive through the West Gate. With the shield of the wizard's magicks dampening spell, they would prevail.

The men were already in position when Princess Rose escaped. Since she had nowhere to go but Dryadia, this had been an unforeseen bonus. The only thing the plan lacked was justification, so the Tyrant had sent his own palace guards (Kapitän Federwitz and his mercenary band known as the "Invincibles") to follow her and demand her return. Regardless of the response, they were to lead an assault. He could then tell his nervous neighbours that his bride-to-be had been kidnapped by Dryadian agents for the carnal pleasure of the wicked Ribbontongue. What else could he do but invade?

But the dragon had not been grounded by the anti-magick spell, and had managed to thin out the ranks of the misnamed mercenaries until they'd brought up the archers to drive the creature off.

And then, this very morning, things went completely off the rails. Memphisto became aware of a sudden magical resistance - he'd thought a powerful witch or demon must have been summoned. The three sorceresses he found with his orb were unknown to him, which he found alarming. So too was the speed at which they were transmogrifying the Tyrant's troops into every manner of fanciful thing, all of which had seemingly given themselves over to fucking.

The wizard had lashed out with another strongly focussed dose of anti-magicks, and he'd felt his new foes waver briefly, but the distance was too great and his magic already spread too thin. It was embarrassing, but clearly he should have followed the army. Still, it wasn't too late. One of the tapestries in his tower room was in fact a fast flying carpet.

Before he set off for Dryadia, he focussed his mentalist power on Katsky, unaware that she had only just cleared her mind of him. She was loaded with fresh instructions: to kill the sorceresses. While it seemed unlikely his enthralled pet would prevail, he hoped she could do some damage before she was cast down.

A brief flash of regret crossed his mind that he had never actually fucked her - purely in an avuncular way, of course. Some of her transitional phases - half human, half other - appealed to him. A fearsome jagular-girl, say. Ears flat, tail lashing, as he gripped her velvety fur covered ass from behind and drove his sable flesh-staff into her still pink ... Oh well, he thought. Snooze, ya lose.

Very soon after, he was decelerating his smoking carpet as he passed over the top of Dryadia's shattered western gate. A few blasts of lightning from his best staff, he felt, should settle the whole issue. If the Tyrant had any issues with his belated victory, well, the idea of adding his potentially former employer to the body count would have some appeal.

>< >< ><

From the battlefield in question, the mercenary Captain Hardwood was not so confident. It had begun well - he and his men had used their own battering ram, War Wang, to breach the West Gate. With the benefit of the wizard's magicks, they had been virtually unopposed, and they'd managed to marshal the Tyrant's army of ploughboys and merchants forward. The only thing holding them back had been the endless brambles and chasms and thick forests, as if the land itself was fighting them.

Then, a short time ago, just when they had reached open ground, an odd shimmering on the horizon had advanced on them - and nothing could be seen beyond. It was rather like an opaque sort of northern lights. Something baffling was clearly happening out there - but the only things to emerge back through the approaching wall were naked, running girls. These invariably threw themselves, boobies bouncing, onto the nearest soldier and proceeded to 'entertain' both him and his neighbours.

The only things to emerge, that is, until now. In the distance to the southeast, not one but two dragons flew through, smoking like forges. These were accompanied by a flying demon with a wild-haired woman riding on its back. To the southwest a lion-eagle mashup was also flapping with a serious show of attitude. When Hardwood looked behind, to the west, he saw a black-caped figure over a storm cloud - Death, seemingly, was surfing on a thunderhead. They were all headed his way.

And the light show ahead was getting close enough to hear wild shouts and shrieks from beyond, so close that he could see the mirage-like glow of three winged angels, or else ... "Oh, My Fucking Goddesses!" he reverently swore, using the formal title of his own personal triumvirate of Deities, clearly coming for him.

Hardwood prided himself that his band always stayed bought for the duration of a campaign. This sort of professionalism was particularly important to him given the Tyrant had also employed his competitor, the annoying Federwitz, to provide the palace guard. Running away was never good on one's resume; on the other hand, neither was being dead, which just now seemed a distinct possibility.

"Bugger," he added.

And then the veil was lifted, and he saw his goddesses in all their fleshy glory. He also saw a litter of martial equipment being trod underfoot by a sex-mad mob of creatures, at least a few of whom could be recognized as his otherwise missing army.

"Captain!" shouted a grinning young woman. The fanged ogre which was gripping her butt and fucking her from behind gave him a friendly wave. "It's me, Eddie ...," she hesitated slightly, as though confused (and distracted - the ogre's tool had sunk noticeably deeper when it had loosened its hold on her ass). "Um, Edwina! Isn't this great?" She waved her arms to take in the whole rutting, spurting crowd around them.

Dazed, he nodded. The OMFGs he worshipped had promised a huge orgy at the end of days, when everyone's carnal wishes would be granted. Corporal Jones's idea of 'great' evidently was being held off the ground and rogered fiercely. As for the rest of them, well, they certainly had more imagination than he had ever given them credit. Even he was mildly shocked at the novelty of form and function displayed.

Case in point - he had never seen an ogre before (this particular one vaguely resembled PFC Johnson), so when the thing lifted Ed(wina) free and hoisted her over its head to lick out her draining fluids, he beheld an ogre-cock. This appendage not only flashed a toothy smile and winked ... it also lifted an arm from a groove along its side and waved at him just as its owner had.

As for the rest, he hardly knew where to look next. Everything about, from pixie to plantain to pachyderm, was engaged in messy sex. Slippery, slavering, grinding, groaning, full-bodied SEX.

As he tossed his sword, armour and clothing aside, and massaged his freed breasts, he stared wildly around. Thank you, Goddesses, Hardlywood thought, as she pulled on her fat clit and twitched her goat-like tail. Her shaggy shins seemed to dull the clop of her cloven feet as she began to stalk a nearby unicorn. The beast was tossing its head - just think how that fat, phallic-looking horn would feel once gripped inside her hungry cunt.

Although theology can be tricky, Rose, Daisy and Violet were probably not the Captain's Goddesses. However, in the interests of expediency, they were indeed allowing the transformees' thoughts to influence their fates - so, who can say?

And as to the 'end of days', Memphistopheles the Blues had arrived. He was, to paraphrase his business card, an Extraordinarily Wicked Wizard. And he was pissed.

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The first salvo of lightning bolts took the Sorceresses by surprise, and threw them some distance. They landed, feathers singed, in a heap behind a slight rise of ground. This was sufficient to deflect the next broadside, although they were showered with dirt and stones.

The black cloud beneath Memphisto meanwhile swirled over the copulating masses and restored the troops to their original forms. More or less, at any rate - some who had been blended with their horses came back slightly scrambled (which is to say that some horses were now much smarter, and less well endowed, than previously). All were naked and confused; but luckily, thanks to the violence of the attack, no one was still inserted into a repealed orifice when the spells were undone.

As for the many Dryadians who had come to join in the fun, they were yet again stripped of their magicks, grounded and forced to scurry for cover. At this close range, this included the nearby dragons (plus Jerry). In their case, no scurrying ensued. They were obliged to walk. However, each picking up the choicest weapons from those scattered in their path. And again, no thanks to her master, Katsky returned to her unfortunately wingless form. As before, gliding was precluded; but this time she landed in mud.

The wizard had the upper hand once more, and he proposed to make the most of it. Lightning began to lash all about; and as trees toppled and more earth soared, his roiling smokes spread rapidly to undo all the Lust Maiden's lovingly depraved works. Even the Three had reverted to their old selves, as they quaked half-buried together in the dubious shelter of their little hill. Things were looking grim, indeed.

But ... in his hubris, Memphisto had ignored his other enemies. By this time, the dragons were nearly on the scene, Dick with a double-handed broadsword in each fist, Frank with a huge axe and a war hammer likewise, and Jerry with an evil-looking morningstar and a javelin. The wizard was too high for any of them; not so for Princess Karen, or the equally annoyed, if dirtier, Katsky (now refocused on her ex-employer). Both girls had found sweet little bows, and knew how to use them.

Before they were in range, there was yet another development. Rose and Daisy and Violet had a visitation - a ghostly female form that stood beside where they currently cowered. "Get yourselves together," it said.

"Easy for you to say," replied Rose to the still nebulous figure, assuming it to be Shirley.

But it was not their FGM. As it came into focus, Violet recognized their gauzy visitor from a shrine outside the Knocked-up Bride - a harbour-side tavern at which she used to work. More a bawdy house, really, and the shrine was actually more of a herm, which she would sometimes fellate to drum up business. Whatever - on the thing's side (the plinth, not its stony wang) was carved a good likeness of Ginger, patron Goddess of Dryadia and of Burlesque Dancers everywhere.

"Hubba hubba, O High and Mighty Ginger," she meekly said, using the appropriate form of address for this particular deity.

Indeed it was Ginger, who knew that if you wanted to stay Top God somewhere, a few miracles and personal appearances went a long way. "One for all, that sort of thing," she intoned.

'Los Tres Hombres Estúpidos' was a popular pageant often staged in Daisy's village (her favourite was Curley). Whoever this was, the message was clear to her. "And all for one! It might work ... focus, girls!"

They clung tightly to one another and closed their eyes - which was just as well given the blinding flash that followed. It was not three frightened ex-sorceresses who slowly rose up from the indifferent cover of their hillock, but the embodiment of the goddess Ginger herself: silver hair (on a single head), high cheekbones, and with her trademark of three descending sets of tasselled breasts.

(It should here be said that Ginger was otherwise normal, if voluptuous. She needed only a loose sweater, a short skirt and some cute pumps to pass herself off as sexily human when she hung around earth-side with the other Gods at Charbucks - human enough, at least, that the locals could pretend to notice nothing unusual.)