Fairy Story

“Well I’m sorry but it’s the best I can do at short notice.” Glinda said, and stalked off in a huff (actually it was a minute and huff, I always remember a face, but in your case I’ll make an exception, ‘ats a my brodder, he dem or a duff) to find the other witches in the kitchen where she would arrive 35 seconds too late.

Anyway. King S. and Queen B. made immediate proclamation, without really thinking it through, that any kind of sex involving pricks, in the Kingdom was henceforth banned, abolished and verboten. No flashing, no drawing, no descriptive writing, no videos, no dvds and definitely no websites, ever again.

“But can’t we just have the ban when the princess gets old enough to understand?” asked the people.

“No.” Said the King. “Children learn things more quickly than you’d think possible, according to modern educationalists and we cannot take the chance that the Royal heir should die before accession. For who can say if we should bear more fruit. And thinking about it now, we won’t be able to because of the proclamation. But, what’s proclaimed is proclaimed and that’s it. ”

The Princess’s school years were an occasion for mass thanksgiving as the King (not so much the Queen, as she was bi- and getting plenty of girl on girl action) in a rare fit of acquiescence (due in large part to the various rallies and protests the like of which had not been seen since the miner’s strike) allowed an annual three-weekly, veritable orgy of penile sex when the Princess went to Royal Camp.

The Princess enjoyed many, many celebrations of her birthday, which conveniently fell on Hallowe'en every year and so was treated to Masked Balls of gigantic proportions due to the two-fold nature of the festivities. And in all her almost 18 years never once had occasion to even have sight of a male member.

ROYAL CAMP.

Every year, for three weeks in the month of August, Hermione (late of the palace kitchens) ran a summer camp for Princesses of the local Realms. This being a land far, far away and in a time long forgotten there were a great many local Realms in quite a small geographical area and so Hermione had quite a comfortable living. She ran three ‘camps’. One was for Princesses, one for Princes and The Other One.

The camps were segregated in this way for two reasons. 1) We’re talking about school age royalty here and school age means no opportunity, let alone desire, for any members of the opposite sex to become more than handshakingly acquainted. 2) The fees could be made proportionately more extortionate due to the kinder being both Royal and segregated.

The Other One, was a year round camp specifically concerned with certain ‘practices’ between consenting adults. Clean linen every morning, three hot meals, several ‘chambers’ below ground and definitely NO animal antics of any kind. At all. Not even in the stables provided. Or the kennels.

HALLOWE’EN AND THE 18TH.

Studly and his Queen B. paced the rooms of the palace, fear and apprehension gnawing at their vitals. “Get those dogs out of here,” Cried the Queen, “I can’t stand their constant slobbering.”

The King anxious to calm his wife called to the dogs. “Come on Fear, here Apprehension. Good dogs.” And led them to the door.

“Oh Studly my King. What are we to do? Our one and only issue will today, this very Hallowe’en be taken by a prick to sleep for an hundred years.”

In agitation the King wailed “Do you think I do not know? Have I not gone without for this past decade and 3 fifths?” (For Studly had followed his own proclamation to the letter.) “But she will be safe. She has no knowledge of the male appendage. She can have no carnal inclinations for any man. The only thing we have to do from now ‘til midnight is keep her locked in her room and then, come the witching hour, she will be free of the curse. And it’s A hundred, not an.”

The day passed slowly, even though the Castle was a-bustle with preparations for the Grandest Hallowe’en Ball of this or any other century, the hours dragged by. The Regal bats were brought from their lofty belfry and given a coat of fresh luminous varnish that they might gleam in the candle-strewn halls on their midnight release. The skeletons of many previous kings and/or their queens/consorts were white washed to be hung in merry poses throughout. Even the witches had been sent invitations to attend, after what happened last time.

Eventually, came 11.30. Every preparation was prepared. Every ghost had been awakened. Every hall had been decked with orange and black and every single Prince, Queen, Princess and King of all the local realms were in attendance bar one.

THE BLASTED HEATH.

First Witch: When shall we three meet again?

Second Witch: When e’er the moon is full, and nigh the witching hour. Haaahahahaaaaaaaa

Third Witch: Well you’re lucky I made it to this one. I didn’t know it was on ‘til you phoned me this afternoon. It’s a good job my mobile was on.

First Witch: Well don’t look at me. I sent all the invitations. PM’d everybody. Which reminds me,” (to second witch) “Your PM box is full. Again.”

Third Witch: “That’s because she uses a picture of Glinda for her AV. All the randy wizards on the site sends her mucky spells.”

First Witch: “Warlocks”

Third Witch: “No, it’s true.”

First Witch hits third with broom and knocks her pointy hat to the ground.

First Witch: “I’ve warned you about that before. Anyway,” (to third) “you can talk, you’re email keeps getting bounced. Have you changed your addy?”

Third Witch: “Yes. Didn’t I say? I kept getting spam. ‘Do you want a wartier nose?’, ‘Is your chin pointy enough?’ that sort of thing. I’m now Hazel @ Daemon dot net.”

First Witch: “Right. So, when shall we three meet again?

Second Witch: (consulting almanac <.com>) Erm… Full moon: 8th of next month.”

Third Witch: “That’s a Saturday. A Saturday in November.”

First Witch: “What time at?”

Second Witch: “Can we make it earlier? I’ve got 3 curses to lay Saturday night.”

Third Witch: “Ok. How about: 5 O’clock. Approaching the time of twilight?”

First Witch: “Venue?”

All: (with glee) “Egdon Heath. Haaahahahaaaaaaaa.

First Witch: I shall now ask our secretary to read the minutes of the last meeting. Or shall we take them as read? Yes? Good. Nem con. Matters arising?

Second Witch: Did you price up a new cauldron?

First Witch: “Yes. And they’re ridiculous. I doubt if we’ve got enough funds to buy a one-gallon cauldron, let alone replace this one. I think we should stick with this. All in favour? Good. Agenda items. Oops. Sorry, Correspondence.”

Second Witch: “Well, apart from the V.A.T man, who wants to know if we want a maintenance contract for this cauldron, there is an invitation to an 18th birthday slash Hallowe’en ball.

First Witch: “Ah. The Beautiful Princess. Soon to be Dead Beautiful.”

Third Witch: (wincing) “Erm… Soon to be Sleeping Beauty I’m afraid.”

First Witch: “SLEEPING?”

Second Witch: “Well…Yeah. Sleeping. Glinda. An hundred years.”

First Witch: “SLEEPING? GLINDA? AN HUNDRED YEARS? Who says An hundred? Nobody says An hundred. It’s got a consonant. It’s A hundred. Stupid cow. Come on.”

Exeunt on brooms

Enter Glinda the Good Witch. (Ptui)

Glinda: “Haaahaha—Oh fuck it.”

THE HIGHEST TOWER IN THE CASTLE. (Readers intimidated by poorly written scenes of sexual depravity may wish to skip this next)

The clock ticked. 11.45

The princess sat at the bedroom table combing her exquisitely coifed hair in the mirror, admiring her great beauty in the reflection thereof. In just a few minutes she would dress herself in the finest Elizabethan brocade with attendant ruffs and frills as befit her status to enjoy this Hallowe’en night and her Birthday Bash in one. Wondering idly, what the ‘special present’, her father the king had promised her, was she stood and moved towards the full-length mirror, little knowing that he sat in the next room watching through the two way glass.

“Oh my, how she has grown.” Thought Studly “My beautiful Princess, my beautiful, pristine, virginal Princess. Nice tits as well.”

11.55

The Princess, turning this way, and that, gazed, enraptured of her own lissom, lithe, languid body. Those full, only very slightly drooping breasts, crowned with puffy areolae and the darkest, hardest, most succulent nubs, standing regally proud a good half inch. Her eyes drew downwards to the trimmest waist imaginable, eat though she did, whatever she craved, Bigmacs, Indians, Kentucky, anything, her middle remained gloriously thin. Still turning as she may, the Princess caught sight of her very own full, rounded and immensely squeezeable derriere, accompanied as ever, by thighs, knees and calves of exquisite proportion.

Right Regal, feminine fingers soon found their way to that virginal, wispy haired haven. Pressing through those downy lips, a single finger, to the first knuckle. A nipple pulled taught with delicious pain/pleasure and released, so that hand could cup the breast and bring that same puffy zone to royal lips and tongue. Perfect, white teeth pinched and nibbled, sending waves of delight through breast and belly to zing through loins to whet appetites and wet lips.

11.59

Behind the mirror sat Studly, bereft of clothing and Royal staff in hand, he watched his own daughter quickly and efficiently bring herself to the edge of delirium, with well practised fingers dancing across her engorged clit and a single digit penetrating her sex, stabbing shallowly but steadily as her climax drew close.

“Wanking, “ mused the King “can’t be as good as proper fucking or she would be sleeping for a thousand years by now.” Then he saw, with great joy, the bedside radio/alarm said:

12.00.

Now for her Daddy’s present.

He kiked down the dor and camed in her fase. And she liked it. She liked it off her lips and where her tongue could reach she liked it off her tits. Immediately she was his cum-slut. “Oh Daddy,” exclaimed the Princess “I’ve waited so long. Fuck my cunt. Now fuck my ass. Fuck my mouth. Fuck me in every hole.”

And so he did. And when she was ready to cum she cried “Cum with me Daddy, I want to feel your incestuous seed fill my belly. Oh yes. Hhnnn. Ooohhh. Fuck me. I’m cuuuuummmmiiiinnnnggg” Then as his daughter’s orgasm exploded within her, sending shivers down her spine, the King, her father, cummed too, Spurting thick ropes of man-juice into her virgin hole with such ferocity that the Princess was slammed into the bed-head and knocked unconscious.

A blaze of light, a crash of thunder and billowing smoke suddenly filled the room.”Oh this is nice.” Said the First Witch. “Very nice. Shagging your own daughter. Very Kingly.”

“Fuck off.” Said Studly. “18 years you made me wait for this. 18 fucking years. Queen B. didn’t go short did she? No. She’s bi. She was fucking the Ladies-in-waiting.” The Witches snickered knowingly. “But I haven’t even had one off the wrist in all that time. And now I’ve been rewarded, I’ve fucked the most beautiful woman in the world ever. And I fucked her first. And she liked it. And your spells are shite.”

“Are they indeed?” Enquired the first Witch. “Let me see… first: “You shall rue the day that you have beauty and tits enough for any man with an arse that could stop a bus and a waist that can waste (and the personality and brains thing).” Yes, well I think we can take that as a given. Agreed? Right. Two: A virgin you are and a virgin you will remain until your 18th birthday, (In Litland anyway) “ Ok. You and Lauren did that bit yourselves. Now, three: “whereupon you shall crave your first cock, taste your first todger, blah blah blah, and this shall be your undoing.” Now that’s down to you again I think Kingy. You showed her, her first cock and it was yours. Ok then. Four: “For wait you must for that first orgasm which will have built to such a crescendo after all those years that it’s ecstasy will surely stop your pretty little heart.” Alright I admit the heart thing didn’t work thanks to Glinda, but think about it. I said your first orgasm. I didn’t actually say whose. As it happens I meant yours. Your first orgasm in 18 years. Yes I know, technically your second but your first inside someone else. So that’s down to you again. So really it was just self-fulfilling. You won’t be able to wake her you know. Not for A hundred years. So we come to part five: “Haaahahahaaaaaaaa. Thank fuck for cut-and-paste”

King Studly was distraught. Sobbing and crying real tears he cradled his beautiful naked daughter in his arms, giving him a boner in the process.

“But it’s turned midnight.” Wailed Studly. “It’s Saturday now. It’s not the 31st. Look.” He pointed to the radio alarm on the bedside table, which read 12.15.

“You’d think so wouldn’t you?” Laughed the First Witch. “Except that you forgot one thing.”

The king stared at the Witch; the other two Witches stared at the king’s noble sceptre.

“You forgot that this clock is an alarm clock. It is set to bedroom time. A quarter of an hour earlier than all the other clocks. Only now is it midnight. And you have doomed your own daughter to a hundred years of sleep. Haaahahahaaaaaaa.”

King Studly rose, with his naked daughter in his arms and his full on stonker pointing the way, and carried her to the Royal Bedchamber.

“Well, that’s us then.” Said the First Witch. “Anybody seen Glinda? She’s usually here by now.”

“No. That IS unusual, even for her.” Said the Second Witch. They stood undecided, waiting for the arrival of their late colleague.

Not late as in dead. Just late. Be a bit pointless waiting for someone who’s dead wouldn’t it? Be a bit like waiting for Godot. Although, you realise, it’s the waiting that counts, not who or what they’re waiting for. Or for whom they wait.

A crash of glass and confused mayhem descended on the group, as Glinda made her late entrance. “Haaahahahaaaaaaaa”

The Witches regained their feet, gingerly picking slivers of glass from their pointy hats and black robes. “Am I too late?” Enquired Glinda.

“Not really.” Said the Second Witch. “We were just waiting for you before we set off.”

Glinda was puzzled. “Set off? Set off where?” She demanded, all the while trying to disentangle taffeta from crinoline and bits of broomstick from her tiara. The three Witches, somewhat sheepishly, explained that they'd got a gig at The Old Vic for the coming season and were involved in The Scottish Play, which really required only three crones. “That’s Ok.” Said Glinda. “I’ll be far too busy moving house for the next few weeks anyway.” She sniffed.

“Moving? Where?”

“Oz.”

“Australia?”

”No Oz. The land of Oz. There’s an opening for a Good Witch and I’ve been offered it. 35K, insurance, a house (gingerbread but that’s Ok) and the usual: 5 weeks annual leave, bank holidays, car allowance, the lot.”

“Well that’s just fine. Fine and dandy. You go. We’ll manage. GOODBYE” The three Witches flew off into the night cackling.

Glinda, with a righteous, haughty gait went to seek out the King and his daughter. After several wrong turnings and one or two wrong doors, disclosing many and varied sexual acts being as how it was, technically, the day after Hallowe’en and everyone was taking full carnal advantage of the fact, she came at last to the Royal Bedchamber, wherein the Princess lay, comatose to last for an hundred years.

Finding her comfortable and shockingly naked, making Glinda rather wet between her legs, the Good Witch (after a quick feel) sought out the Royal party.

In the Grand Hall amidst Hallowe’en trappings the guests were, to a man (and woman) engaging in somewhat desultory sex, in celebration of the end of the ‘No Nobs’ proclamation as it had come to be known. But the fate of the Princess had thrown a shadow over what was to be an otherwise thoroughly enjoyable night. Upon this sight Glinda became dismayed, not over the sex, she didn’t get to see that much sex being a story book witch. Now if she could join a Modern Coven. They had sex all the time. Dancing naked in the woods. Making love philtres. Shag, shag, shag, shag, shag. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Turning her gaze once more to the assembled throng Glinda couldn’t help but feel sad for all these hapless nymphos and satyrs. So she cast another spell. That all in this castle should sleep for an hundred years, to waken only when the Princess was woken by a different kind of prick as per her previous spell. Before she took her leave, she decided to take full and unfettered advantage of all the hard ons that she could espy, along with some nice wet minges to taste. After three weeks she left for Oz.

The Castle, with its slumbering incumbents fell into Disrepair: Property developers. (House clearances sought.) After many more years when the housing market fell through and All and Sundry (Debt collecting agency) ensured everyone was in a negative equity situation, the castle naturally went to Rack and Ruin: Slumlords to the shiftless, homeless and topless. Est.837.

HERMIONE

Through her own skill and artistry, along with her business sense and eye for the market, Hermione (late of the Palace kitchens), had built not only a grand reputation and comfortable livelihood but had also managed to persuade the surrounding Realms, with her charm, willing lips and interesting assortment of instruments of pleasure, to have her small parcel of land declared an independent country. As sole owner Hermione became Queen.

Even though wholly les. Hermione none-the-less managed to bear a girl child to whom her country would eventually come to pass. Hermione Junior (Princess Hermione) also bore a child of female birth. Princess Hermione III. This charming and challenging child held a deep secret, known only to a chosen few. To all outward appearances Hermione III grew to be a beautiful, capable woman who, following the time honoured tradition of the Royal Hermiones, was Lesbian in taste.

Feeling greatly bored and somewhat stifled in her Regal role as second in line, Hermione III decided it would take forever before her grandmother died, leaving the country to her mother who would then take another forever before finally passing on the Crown.

And so it came to pass that the rather minuscule subplot found its way to the main story bringing Hermione III to the sleeping castle.

After many days and nights of travel and some wonderfully uplifting and hedonistic adventures, too complex and long to relate in a fairy tale, Hermione III came to the village outside the sleeping castle. Here she discovered the tale of The Sleeping Beauty, who could only be woken after an hundred years with a different kind of prick. “Ah ha.” Thought Hermione and was more than ready to reveal her deep held secret to the reading public.

After much preparation and reparation to the Innkeeper and various outfitters Hermione began her quest in Earnest, which was the name of the village outside the sleeping castle. With courage and great fortitude Hermione made good her entrance to the sleeping castle. Finding its inhabitants still slumbering and even after an hundred years still stiff of prick and wet of twat she spent the first 3 weeks in the great hall before going on to search for the Princess.

The Royal Bedchamber readily gave up its secret and Hermione there discovered the most Beautiful Sleeping female of all. Sleeping Beauty. Try as she might, Hermione could not awaken the Princess. Though she tried needles, pins, pointy daggers and sharpened sticks to give the slumber filled creature a different kind of prick, still she dozed on.

In sheer frustration Hermione began to try arousing the Princess with kisses and protestations of love, declaring her heart and soul be forfeit to her majestic beauty if only she would awaken. Hermione soon realised that she had indeed fallen in love. Whereon she threw herself on top of her erstwhile bedmate and smothered her face with kisses. She ran her tongue down the length of her body, from chin to pubis. She kneaded her perfect breasts; she slavered over her trim waist, sucked on those remarkable nipples and lovingly fingered her fringed minge.