The Jabberwock's Treasure Pt. 01

Part 1: The Princess in the High Tower

Breaking through the walls of the castle was the easy part. Vorpal's claws made quick work of the brick and masonry, like a child burrowing a questing hand into a sandcastle, and she tore her way inside. The soldiers had been alerted, of course. Around a dozen ran across the square from the guardhouse, joined by others from the bases of the castle's many towers, all dressed in red and gold, the livery of the Regency of Alfor.

Vorpal sighed. She brought the full height of her body to bear, unfurling her leathery wings, her crest bristling, her long tail whipping the air. For a moment she remembered the time when she had been a true dragon, before her transformation. Then, she had flown the skies, a terror to humans and other monsters alike, unstoppable, despite all the heroes sent against her. In another time, she would have been smashing into a castle to despoil it of its gold and jewels, to add to her precious hoard.

But that was in the past.

A jabberwock now, she was still an object of fear, though perhaps of a different kind. The soldiers, poor pitiable creatures, came to a halt a good number of feet away from her and looked at each other, none of them eager to be the first to engage her.

Vorpal drew in a great breath, her ample chest heaving. Then she breathed out – but not the fire of old. No, this was just another of the strange changes that the Queen of Hearts' magic had worked on her body. Thick pink mist, glowing, pungent with the sweet scent of sugar and musk and fairy-floss, flowed over the armed column in a wave.

The soldiers fell writhing to the ground and Vorpal chuckled to herself. This form still felt unfamiliar in a lot of ways, even so many years after her transformation, but one could not argue with its effectiveness.

The soldiers pulled at their armour, stripping themselves of it, greaves and cuirasses and jerkins all. Then half-naked they fell on each other with hungry mouths and hands. The Regency employed both male and female soldiers, but the pink mist of the jabberwock's breath brought with it such uncontrollable lust that those under its influence cared little whether the gender of their partners coincided with their usual desires.

Vorpal sniffed and turned her back on the writhing, panting pile, then with a single sweep of her powerful wings she was across the square. Yes, that was the tower Dovedale the Cheshire Cat had spoken of. She wrenched the door clear off its hinges, locks and all. Foolish to show the way to your most precious possession by covering the doors with such puny defences, capable of hindering only human threats!

With half-flaps, half-leaps, she scaled the great curving stair. She met with more soldiers, but those who did not immediately flee from her received a blast of her sweet pink breath. Vorpal brushed them aside, but not before the smiling mouths of her tentacles sought to wrap themselves lasciviously around their lust-filled and writhing bodies.

Vorpal's body suddenly twinged with a familiar, frustrating ache, but she pushed it away angrily. Of all the changes to her body, this insatiable desire was the most annoying. Other jabberwocks took pride in the intensity of their lewdness, the uncontrollable need of their lust. But for Vorpal, who had once been a dragon, the feelings were unwelcome. A proud daughter of the dragon race, reduced to a slobbering, lowly creature? Her new sisters, of course, did not see it that way. They looked at their lewdness as the source of great dignity and took delight in being the most lascivious of the monsters of Wonderland.

Ah, but that was the thing, wasn't it? Those were the rules of Wonderland and Vorpal had lived outside of the mysterious demon realm most her life. If she hadn't stumbled upon that strange door, been tempted to see what was on the other side, thinking that there was treasure hidden there...

The treasure. Of course. She must not get distracted.

She tossed aside another soldier and came at last to the final door atop the tower. More locks, but these she peeled off with her claws delicately. She could not just tear the door away like before – she might damage the treasure waiting within.

She stuck a claw in the final lock, prised it out and then slowly pushed the door open.

Candlelight within. A bedroom, walls decorated with lavish tapestries and crossed swords and shields, filled from corner to corner with exquisite wooden furniture – a dresser, a great many wardrobes, a bookcase, a suit of armour beside it – but most gorgeous of all was the great four-poster bed in the centre of the room, draped with pale blue silks. A sleeping body made a mound beneath the coverlet – a long, slender body, topped with a mass of long blonde hair which lay across its lace pillow, as gold as the exquisite embroidery of the coverlet. The top half of the mound rose gently with the rising of breath. Good. She had not woken her.

The Princess of Alfor. Yes, Dovedale had been most descriptive.

"You must be gentle, Vorpal my darling. She is sought by the Queen of Hearts, after all, and must be treated like the most precious pearl. The Queen wishes her to be brought to Wonderland in all her pure, untouched beauty, with not a single golden hair unplaced."

Vorpal had been surprised by the request. "But what does the Queen want with the Princess?"

Dovedale giggled. "Why, I was sure you knew the story, darling! Weren't you a denizen of the human world for so very long? But perhaps the story is only well-known here in Wonderland. Well, the Regess of Alfor has long been famous for her hatred of lewdness of every kind. Abandoned by her lover, she was, poor thing, and since that day she has hated even the thought of the joys of sex. Why, she even went so far as to enact an edict that no citizen of her country is permitted to perform any sexual act beyond..." – and here the Cheshire Cat giggled again – "...beyond the position where the female lies prone beneath the male, and they may not do so for pleasure but merely for the begetting of children! And even then no more than once a month!"

Vorpal frowned at the look of melodramatic shock on the Cheshire Cat's face. Was the thought of going a whole month without having sex truly so terrible? And surely it was a delight best left for one's husband...

Dovedale continued. "The Regess' unwholesome purity and arrogance have long displeased the Queen of Hearts. And so she wishes to teach her a lesson."

"Her daughter," said Vorpal. "Dovedale, I don't wish to refuse the Queen's order, but if the child is going to be harmed..."

The Cheshire Cat's slitted amethyst eyes went wide in shock, both at the thought of someone refusing an order from the Queen of Hearts and that such an order would be murderous in intent. "No, no, no, my darling. Set your heart at rest! The Queen merely wishes to mould the child into a creature of supreme lewdness. She will be returned to her kingdom, unharmed, and show her people and her mother the foolishness of refusing their natural lewd desires." Her lunate grin reappeared, twice as large. "Since you became a jabberwock, have you not found life so much more fulfilling?"

"Well," said Vorpal and she left it at that. She did not wish to attempt explaining to such a flighty creature as a Cheshire Cat the complexities of her situation. Of course she desired sex and was susceptible to erotic feeling... her body was designed for just that. But every time she had been tempted to ravish a lost traveller or other incautious human, something had held her back.

Was it just that she was afraid?

No, it was not that. She was not afraid of men! If anything, men were afraid of her.

Maybe she was just too picky.

Her pride flashed up. No! It was just that she had not yet met one who could match her. Would she become a simpering she-lizard for some peasant or simpleton just because of the hardness between their legs? Never!

And so she had of course accepted the duty placed on her by the Queen. She had no way of refusing, really, but it suited her pride to feel that she was the one who had made the decision. The Cheshire Cat had been delighted and told her of the details of the mission...

...and so here she was now. The treasure. The Princess of Alfor. Her goal.

Vorpal stepped carefully up to the side of the bed, her claws clicking against the floorboards. She took hold of the hem of the duvet and slowly drew it down.

The princess' face was still hidden by the wealth of her golden hair, but her slender body was revealed, covered by a thin night dress, all except for her limbs – her hands clasped at her breast, bed-warm pink, long smooth legs of the same peach-like colour.

Vorpal watched her sleeping. She was so peaceful, and so beautiful, too. She willed her to move, to reveal her face, and by some miracle with a gentle murmur she did, turning her head. The halo of her golden hair parted and her gentle sleeping face appeared. Her eyes were beautiful even shut, the long lashes laid black against the paleness of her smooth high cheekbones. The little curved cupid's -bow of a mouth parted as she breathed.

Truly a delicate beauty. Vorpal sighed. Perhaps the Queen of Hearts was right. To have such a delight trapped in this high tower, never allowed to marry or to feel the joy of a lover's embraces and the delight of children as beautiful as herself was a dreadful sin. She would no doubt make an exquisite succubus or some similarly aristocratic monster.

The princess murmured again. Vorpal realised she had come too close and no doubt the heat of her own body, the soft kiss of her breath was disturbing her.

Noise from below. More soldiers? Possibly the Regess had returned earlier from her hunt than Vorpal had expected.

She leaned down. She must do this gently or else...

Shouts came from below, and with them the clattering of arms.

The princess's eyes flashed open. They were blue, impossibly blue, like a sunlit bay, somehow captured here in her face. Her mouth opened too in a gasp, a gasp building to a scream.

Vorpal knew then there was no longer any time for gentleness. She threw a tentacle over the princess' mouth and with her claws she lifted her up beneath the knees and shoulders.

Then with a lunge of her tail she smashed out the wall around the window and with a sweep of her leathery wings she surged her powerful body through the dust and shattered mortar and out into the night air.

In her arms the princess struggled.

Vorpal leaned close. "Don't try and escape you silly creature. We're flying now, and if you manage to get free your beautiful self will fall four hundred feet to a certain and messy death."

Vorpal felt the girl gasp against her gently constricting tentacle and she stopped struggling, although she still shivered. Vorpal immediately regretted her cruel words and said, "You will not be harmed. I've been asked to escort you to meet the Queen of Wonderland, a request your mother would not allow and which has forced our current situation."

The girl seemed to understand. Her shivering grew less and she clung on, now, to Vorpal as she flew.

Hands. Such soft, gentle hands, even though they gripped her tightly.

Vorpal flushed. The princess smelled warm and sweet, like freshly laundered linen.

Those eyes. Looking up at her.

Vorpal flew on. Her lair was not far away.

–––––––––––––––––-

Vorpal watched the slender body on the couch shift and murmur. Ah, the princess was not long off waking.

The delicate creature had been asleep when Vorpal had arrived back at her lair. She'd been surprised and amused to find the princess's eyes closed, her lips slightly open, her chest gently rising and falling in her arms. Vorpal had thought she was faking to begin with, that she would take off at a run as soon as she let go of her, and so as she placed her on the couch she'd been ready to snatch her up if she tried anything. Her big claws were so perfect for catching after all.

But the girl hadn't been faking. Either through exhaustion of the flight or more likely through the stress of her kidnapping, she'd nodded off part way. Vorpal had laid down on her own bed, the great mound of gold and silver coins and glittering jewels she'd had collected over the years, and watched her. No, the princess was not faking. She slept hard and deep.

But in the cool of Vorpal's underground lair, she'd begun to shiver so the jabberwock had placed a fleece on top of her. She'd done it gently, worried she would wake her, disturb that angelic look of peace she was so envious of. Also, Vorpal was relieved she was still asleep. She had dreaded the thought of wrestling the girl, threatening her to keep her from trying to escape. Vorpal did not much relish that kind of conflict, the sort with tears, shouting and recriminations, a conflict that couldn't be solved with the slash of a claw or the sweep of a tail.

The princess shifted again, revealing her face. Vorpal felt a flutter in her chest. She really was beautiful. A classic, aristocratic beauty. So slender she could be snapped in half in one claw, no doubt, with pale skin and hair almost as pale. And those eyes! Vorpal had seen just a moment of them open, and they had stared at her in fear. But perhaps the fear had made them all the more beautiful.

Her fine gold hair fell over her face and Vorpal was struck by the desire to get up and brush it to one side. The thought annoyed her, and the annoyance quickly teetered into anger. Why had the Queen entrusted her with such a trivial task? Surely a Cheshire Cat could have done the same. Why disturb her? Her neighbours in Wonderland knew she preferred her own company. That's why she'd set up her lair so far from the others in the forest, on the very edge of Wonderland.

But perhaps that was not the truth of it. Perhaps she missed being a dragon.

And perhaps Dovedale was right. Perhaps she should stop struggling against her situation and learn to enjoy it.

She glanced back at the princess. Ah, but a boy around her age, with her looks, would have made an excellent captive. She was no doubt still a virgin. As a boy she would have been irresistible, a true prize worthy of such effort.

Vorpal's heart beat faster. Oh, why was she thinking about this now? Her body always betrayed her. Lewdness lay never far under the surface. She grimaced at the tingling pressure growing below her waist.

Yes, a boy like this princess. A prince, gold-haired and pale skinned and gentle of face. One rarely met a human of that sort wondering into Wonderland. Mostly, such exquisite prizes fell to monster girls far more experienced in their demonic ways.

Vorpal had come across Dovedale with such a one, once. The boy had been young, just on the cusp of manhood like this princess. The Cheshire cat had been astride him, bouncing her voluptuous body up and down. She hadn't even taken the time to strip herself and had merely pulled the crotch of her garment aside and slipped his hardness into her. Her tail twisting, her wide mouth open and drooling as she yowled with pleasure, the boy's hands around her waist, his beautiful eyes boggling with disbelief as the cat-girl engulfed him over and over again.

Dovedale's huge amethyst eyes had fallen open and seen Vorpal staring, and her lewdly moist lips had burst into a wide grin.

"Oh, my dearest Vorpal! Look at what I found just wandering the forest." She'd gasped, then, as the boy began thrusting up into her with increasing zeal. "Why – ah! Why don't you come and join us? The lad's beautiful mouth is just wasted there, gasping out his pleasure to the empty air. Surely it could – ah! – be put to a more pleasurable use!"

Vorpal had for a dark moment considered it. Wasn't that the way a jabberwock was supposed to behave? She could just mount the boy's face, have him lick her between the legs. And after the Cheshire Cat had made him burst inside her and filled her with his boiling semen, she could have her turn. Her pink breath and her mouth and eager tongue would soon have him back into fighting form and then she, too, could feel for the first time the surging delight of a man's member spearing up into her, the eager clutching of his soft hands, hear his passionate gasps, feel that liquid fire spatter her insides.

Her tentacles' mouths had drooled, but she had muttered something and flown away, leaving Dovedale to bring the boy to completion. Vorpal had rushed home, fell on her couch, let her tentacles wander over her body, one licking her nipples with its hot, writhing tongue as she'd torn aside the skirt of her garment and let the other baste her engorged button until she reached a frustrated and angry climax.

She'd regretted not taking the Cheshire Cat's offer up, initially. But over time she'd felt she'd done the right thing. She would have had to have left the boy for the cat, or else shared him, and she had never been one for sharing. Dragons were most covetous monsters, after all.

But now she had this beautiful creature to herself. A girl. What would it be like to lay with a girl, she wondered? The thought intrigued her, but then the annoyance returned.

Oh, why did she have to be a princess? And why did she have to be kept for the Queen of Heart's pleasure?

Feeling sorry for herself, Vorpal let the horrible loneliness she usually kept at bay creep back upon her. She had always suffered it, even before she'd been made a jabberwock. As a dragon, no man had been worthy of her. Many dragon hunters had come, and there had been many men she had defeated in battle when despoiling rich kingdoms. But none had been what she desired.

She looked about her lair. It was a cave, of course, like her home as a dragon had been. Many jabberwocks lived in similar places. They were deep down still dragons, after all, even if they had never experienced being other than a jabberwock. There were gold and jewels, of course, piled up in the way dragons enjoy having it, being on display at all times. The mound, upon which she was lying on her tummy and watching the princess, glittered all about her in the torchlight. Morning was still a while away, and this chamber would only receive the sunlight when the sun was high in the sky.

She shifted, enjoying the feeling of the hard coins under her belly. Ah, but her body was itchy today! She squirmed until her breasts and thighs and twisting tail had made a nice hollow. Now she could relax and continue to watch the princess sleep.

Vorpal's lair was richly decorated with furniture she had stolen. She remembered when she had despoiled that human mansion where she had found the couch the princess was sleeping on. There had been an old grandfather clock as well and it sat now in the corner of the chamber, ticking. Tapestries of royal scenes covered the walls. Her favourite, although it annoyed her also, was the one hanging on the far wall, near her collection of magical swords. It showed in its intricate embroidery, no doubt woven by the delicate hands of some young princess like her current quarry, a scene of a young knight kneeling before a girl and taking her hand in his. Clearly it was a scene from one of those romantic novels that such aristocratic girls like so much.

Vorpal's eyes flicked to the bookcases of books she had. She loved the look of books, even though she seldom had the patience to read them. There were many romances there, and she had read a few. But more then often the situations had irked her, with the girls fawning over unreasonably heroic knights, and the coyness of the writing was also irritating. The action would always pull away before the interesting part – you would seldom get to read about the lewdness of their wedding night. Such wedding nights must be lewd, Vorpal knew. Surely after being virgins for so long – the knight included – the first chance to enjoy the pleasures of the marriage bed would have the two of them tearing off each others' clothes and ravishing each other with hands and mouths that had been starved for so long.