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.