Happy Ever After
Page 7
The princess had to be content with this arrangement. Had she not sworn by the clear sky above not to reveal one word of this to anyone at the royal court, Rosamunda would have killed her on the spot. And, coming from Rosamunda, that was no idle threat.
Then the waiting-maid, with many hard words, bade the princess exchange royal apparel for her own shabby clothes. The maid undressed first, revealing a large body, firm with muscle. Her cunt was cloaked by a black bush, a dark trail leading the way to solid breasts culminating in purplish nipples surrounded by sharp hairs. However grotesque, there was something about Rosamunda’s naked body that rendered Svana even less resistive.
Untying the princess’ corset, the monster of a woman let the girl’s gown fall to the grass. Rosamunda’s hot breath harassed the back of her neck as she took firm hold of Svana’s breasts. Her knees nearly gave out at the sensation. Spinning on her heels, the princess pressed her perfect tits against the waiting-maid’s and kissed her spring-water mouth. Straddling the servant’s leg, hairy as the green grocer’s, Svana rubbed her ever-ready pussy lips against her hard thigh. Rosamunda grabbed her ass with both hands, rocking her like a swing. Svana grasped the maid’s shoulder and her feet lifted right off the ground. Back and forth, back and forth her moist pussy lips tribbed against Rosamunda’s thigh. The pressure on princess’ mound increased until Svana screamed so loudly she couldn’t see straight.
Rosamunda dropped the girl in a writhing heap upon the green dress, squeezing herself into the red and gold gown. She commanded Svana to get up and dressed.
“Whatever you say,” the smitten Svana gushed.
With the dressing all finished, Rosamunda mounted her mare, cackling, "Falada is more suitable for me, and my nag will do for you."
But Falada saw all this, and observed it well, whinnying to Svana,
"If this your mother knew,
Her heart would break in two."
“Oh, mind your own business, you old nag,” Svana scolded.
* * * *
The waiting-maid now riding Falada, and the true bride the bad horse, they traveled onwards until at length they reached the royal palace. There were great rejoicings over their arrival, and the prince sprang forward to meet the woman in red and gold, lifting the waiting-maid from her horse. How strange! The tabloids reported that his princess was a knock-out, and yet his consort looked quite gargantuan in person. Just goes to show you can’t believe everything you read.
With Rosamunda conducted upstairs, the real princess was left standing below. Knowing not what to do or where to go, she stood in that spot for a day and a half. Fortunately, the old king derived a certain gratification from peeping on the blacksmith as he handled his red-hot poker. Thus, king Dolphus was every so often looking out of the window with binoculars. That’s how he noticed Svana standing in the courtyard. Remarking how dainty and delicate she was, he instantly went to the royal apartment and asked the bride about the girl.
"What, that little prossie? I picked her up along the way for companionship,” Rosamunda lied. “Give the girl something to work at, that she may not stand idle."
But old king Dolphus had no work for her, and knew of none, so he said, "I have a boy called Conrad who tends the geese, but I fear he’s becoming a tad too friendly with the flock, if you catch my drift. A little prossie may help rid him of this queer affliction."
“Yes, you don’t hear of many poultrysexuals, my liege,” snickered Rosamunda. She couldn’t have plotted this better herself.
And so it was decided the true bride had to help Conrad keep his hands and other body parts off the geese. But even this task was not torture enough, in cruel Rosamunda’s mind. Soon afterwards the false bride said to the lanky prince, "Dearest husband, I beg you to do me a favor."
He answered, "I will do anything most willingly if you’ll only agree not to molest me this evening. I fear I shall never recover from our wedding night."
“Agreed,” said Rosamunda, tickling her scrawny husband. “I really ought to have stopped after the nineteenth round, but I couldn’t resist your little cock-a-doodle-doo! Here’s what I’ll have you do: send for the knacker, and have him cut off the head of the horse on which I rode here."
And so, the faithful Falada was to die because Rosamunda was afraid the horse might reveal her true identity. When this came to the ears of the real princess, Svana despaired. Secretly, she promised to give the knacker a rim job, for his wife did not read to Cosmo and could not believe anybody would do such a thing. In return, the knacker would perform one small service. There was a gateway in the town, through which she had to pass with the geese, morning and evening. Would he be so good as to nail up Falada's head on it, that she might see him again, and more than once? For the knacker, it was a small price to pay to get his asshole tongue-tickled by a beautiful girl.
Early in the morning, when Svana and Conrad drove out their flock beneath this gateway, she said in passing,
"Alas, Falada, hanging there."
Then the head answered,
"Alas, young queen, how ill you fare.
If this your mother knew
Her heart would break in two."
When they’d driven their geese into a great floral meadow, Svana sat down and unbound her hair, which was like pure gold except for the slightest trace of dark roots. Conrad saw this and delighted in its brightness. Her hair reminded him of his first love, the golden goose, who had an unfortunate accident and was subsequently consumed. So heart-wrenchingly badly did Conrad miss his golden goose that his cock sprang to life in reminiscence. Having been scolded by the king for his fowl temperament, the boy thought perhaps the lovely Svana would alleviate the tension in his groin. Untying his humble rope of a belt, he brought the golden-haired girl face to face with his humble joke of a cock.
Alas, there was no way Svana was coming anywhere near that mother-clucker, and she told him so in no uncertain terms. But, grasping his drooling rod by the base, Conrad begged and pleaded with the righteous bride. Even as he shook his erection this way and that, Svana’s answer remained no. When he approached her, stroking firmly on his humble shaft, there remained no choice but to summon the summer breeze, who owed her one. Turning her face to the heavens, Svana cried,
"Blow, blow, thou gentle wind, I say,
Blow Conrad's tiny cock away,
And make him chase it here and there,
Until I have braided all my hair,
And bound it up again."
And there came such a violent wind that it blew Conrad's penis far across the country. Of course, he was forced to chase after it because it was by far the most precious thing he owned. There was nothing else from which he derived such use and enjoyment. When he finally caught up with his dick, it was muddied, bruised and limp with exhaustion. Yes, that summer wind had blown Conrad’s cock more skillfully than any, man, woman or goose ever could. He came back to the meadow with a smile on his face just as Svana finished putting her hair back up.
Though his body was blissful, Conrad still missed his golden goose. Could he not have one measly strand of hair to remember her by? But Svana guarded her locks jealously, and would not give the goose boy even one strand. Then Conrad was angry, then pouty, then surly, then a little itchy, then angry again. At any rate, he would not speak to her. Thus they watched the geese until the evening, when it was time to return home.
* * *
Another day of bird-chasing was upon Conrad and Svana. Again, as they drove the geese out through the dark gateway adorned with the head of her beloved horse, the maiden said,
"Alas, Falada, hanging there."
And Falada answered,
"Alas, young queen, how ill you fare.
If this your mother knew
Her heart would break in two."
Heavy-hearted, the false maid sat down in the field, picking dandelions with her toes, and began to comb out her hair. The endearing but pervy Conrad ran and tried to clutch it. Offering her every pleasure in the world f
or just one strand of hair, the boy whipped out his rigid rod. In haste, Svana pronounced the words,
"Blow, blow, thou gentle wind, I say,
Blow Conrad's tiny cock away,
And make him chase it here and there,
Until I have braided all my hair,
And bound it up again."
Sure enough, the lecherous wind blew and blew Conrad’s little dick, blew it so hard it flew off his body, and the goose-boy was forced to run after it. When he came back, Svana’s hair had been put up a long time and he could get none of it. But after all that running and all that blowing, Conrad was too sleepy to argue. He took a nap while the goose-girl looked after their flock till evening came.
But in the evening after they had got home, Conrad went to the old king. Dolphus was busy watching the blacksmith with his red-hot poker in hand, but the boy took no notice and said, "I won't tend the geese with that girl any longer."
"Why not?" inquired the aged king, stowing his binoculars away.
“Oh, because she vexes me the whole day long," Conrad replied.
The aged king commanded he relate what it was about the girl that irked him so. Conrad said, "In the morning when we pass beneath the dark gateway, there is a horse's head on the wall, and she says to it,
"'Alas, Falada, hanging there.'
"And the head answers,
"'Alas, young queen, how ill you fare.
If this your mother knew
Her heart would break in two.'"
Conrad went on to relate what happened on the goose pasture, and how he was forced to chase his dick all across the countryside. Well, this was a revelation for the aged king, who commanded Conrad to drive his flock out again next day. As soon as morning came, king Dolphus placed himself behind the dark gateway, and heard how the maiden spoke to the head of Falada. And then he too went into the country, and hid himself in the thicket in the meadow.
There the king soon saw with his own eyes the goose-girl and the goose-boy bringing their flock. The moment Svana sat down and unplaited her hair, which shone with the radiance of a thousand hot oil treatments, that pesky Conrad was on her like a nose-print on a blacksmith’s window. The boy offered her a deal: for a single strand of her golden hair, he would give her every awesome pleasure his penis could provide.
Allowing his trousers to fall to the ground, Conrad revealed his erection once more to the girl. As he traced his fingers around the rim of his glistening cockhead, thumbing the precum into his sensitive skin, he warned that this very well could be her last chance. Svana knew better and soon repeated the words,
"Blow, blow, thou gentle wind, I say,
Blow Conrad's tiny cock away,
And make him chase it here and there,
Until I have braided all my hair,
And bound it up again."
When a blast of wind arose to blow Conrad's erection across the countryside, a cry resounded from the nearby thicket. “No!” shouted king Dolphus, chasing the penis at break-neck speed. After all, it had been a while for the king, and even a small penis was better than no penis at all.
“What an odd occurrence,” Conrad puzzled, watching the elderly king make chase.
“Well? You’d better get after him,” Svana replied, combing her golden locks. “If the king catches your penis, I hate to think what he might do with it.”
So Conrad ran far away, chasing the king who was chasing his penis, which was being blown by the summer wind, all while the maiden quietly went on combing and plaiting her hair. Well, both the king and Conrad were absent for quite a long time, and when they returned they looked utterly contented, so God only knows what they were up to.
Collapsing in the grass at Svana’s side, the peeping cock-chaser asked her why she did all these curious things. She replied, “I dare not lament my sorrows to any human being. I have sworn not to do so by the heavens above me. If I had not sworn that oath, I would have lost my life.”
The king urged her and left her no peace, but he could draw nothing from the goose-girl. “All right then,” said he. “If you will not tell me anything, tell your sorrows to the iron-stove there.”
By this time, Svana desperately desired to speak to somebody, anybody, about her troubles. Since she had no gold to pay the county therapist, the dear girl figured an inanimate object was her next best option. Creeping inside the iron-stove, the true bride began to weep and lament. She emptied her whole heart, crying, “Here am I deserted by the whole world, and yet I am the daughter of not one, but two queens! Yet, a false waiting-maid has by force compelled me to put off my royal apparel, and she has taken my place with my bridegroom. Now I am doomed forever to perform menial service as a goose-girl alongside that wretched poultysexual. If this my mother knew, her heart would break in two.”
The aged king, that clever bugger, was standing outside by the pipe of the stove, listening to what she said. When the beautiful girl emerged, royal garments were placed on her, and Svana shone with the radiance of the stars. The aged king summoned his son, and revealed he had got the false bride who was only a waiting-maid. The true one was standing there, as the former goose-girl.
The young prince rejoiced with all his heart when he saw her beauty and youth. She didn’t look half as threatening as his current wife, who had read about some kind of kinky strangulation thing and wanted to try it. He really wasn’t into asphyxiation. Heavens above, Rosamunda’s hands were so huge, he would be dead by midnight! This new girl was manna from heaven, as far as prince Everitt was concerned. Svana didn’t think he was half bad, either. Together, the three royals hatched a plan so half-baked, it just might work.
* * * *
That evening, a great meal was made ready for prince Everitt, princess Rosamunda, and the minor celebrities with whom they were acquainted. While the guests feasted on mole-rat, the specialty of their kingdom, the prince suggested it might be kind of kinky if he went down on his wife under the dinner table. Rosamunda’s two greatest pleasures were mole-rat and public sex, so she agreed whole-heartedly.
So down went the prince, under the tablecloth and beneath her many skirts until an anxious tongue fought through the false bride’s jungle of pubic hair. When that tongue struck flesh, Rosamunda’s folds released a veritable waterfall of love juices. Heavens above, the prince must have taken lessons since they’d done this at the breakfast table! Instead of flitting about like a lost fly, his tongue licked her lower lips full and hard. His teeth bit at her thighs before he stuck his ample tongue straight up her hole. Swirling every which way, he flailed it against the pleading walls of her cunt.
When the aged king had eaten and drunk and was merry, he turned to the enraptured waiting-maid to pose a riddle. Of course, with a wild tongue wrestling her spasmodic pussy, Rosamunda could hardly concentrate on Dolphus’ question. “What punishment deserves a person who steals the identity of a rightful royal, marries her prince, kills her horse, and leaves her no option but to tend geese for a living?”
Just as Rosamunda started to process the riddle, the head between her thighs took her erect clit into its mouth and sucked like it was drawing poison from a snakebite. Oh, the waiting-maid nearly lost her head! Struggling desperately to retain her composure before the king, Rosamunda fought to transform her moans into words.
With an expert mouth sucking relentlessly at her cunt, words came tumbling out. “She deserves no better fate than to be stripped entirely naked and put in a barrel which is studded inside with pointed nails.” Unable to keep quiet under the harangue of one tongue that felt like many, Rosamunda continued, “Two white horses should be harnessed to this barrel, which ought to drag her along through one street after another…” The maid, dizzy with cunnilingual delight, had one wild scream left in her before she could be still. “…till she is dead!”
And then the tongue ceased its thrusting and the mouth ceased its sucking, and Rosamunda lay back in her chair in blissful relaxation.
“Ha! It is you," said the aged king, “You h
ave pronounced your own sentence, and that’s exactly what shall be done unto you.”
“What?” Rosamunda stammered. “But, but, but…”
And then a great cry rang out from under Rosamunda’s skirt, and who should come climbing out but the rightful princess!
“No!” Svana cried. “No, I beg you not to harm my darling Rosamunda!”
“Don’t harm her?” asked the king. “But this was your plan!”
“What can I say? I’m complicated,” the goose-girl replied. “And I realize now the full extent of my infatuation with this hairy maid. She’s large and rough, and she really screwed me over by stealing my identity, but now all has been put right. I should like to keep her as my lover, my liege.”
“Your lover?” cried prince Everitt. “But you’re supposed to marry me!”
“Have you never heard of a sham marriage, you great twit?” Rosamunda cackled as Svana pet her dark head.
“A what what-age?” puzzled the lanky prince.
“Well, I certainly have,” guffawed old king Dolphus. “I lived in one for forty-seven miserable years! The only things that made it bearable were the blacksmith and my unfathomable wealth. Do you really think I am that scrawny boy’s father? I should think not. No, Everitt, your mother chased after anything in pantaloons. As for me, well, once you go blacksmith you never go backsmith.”
“How disturbing,” said the prince. “And I suppose it could work, but is it really fair to me to have no lover of my own?”
Svana observed the prince’s golden hair and shot the king a quick glance. “I should like to introduce you to the goose-boy.”
About Giselle Renarde
Eroticist, environmentalist and pastry enthusiast Giselle Renarde is a proud Canadian and a great lover of the vast forests of the Great White North. For Giselle, a perfect day involves watching a snowstorm rage outside with a cup of tea in one hand and a chocolate truffle in the other. Ms Renarde lives across from a park with two bilingual cats who sleep on her head.