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Dragon Sweat: Scroll II
by David Shaw (david@f-e-mail.com)
***
You can help a beautiful, sexy witch out of the shit,
you can get your handmaidens to wash her clean in a
bath of magic love potion, but there's always some
prick of a king who wants the first fuck. (M/F+,
fantasy)
***
Some of the palace guard fingered their weapons and
looked sullen, but there were good reasons for standing
still. The first was the pile of ash where the Master-
At-Arms had stood, the second was Will Spearshaker's
cries of mingled pain and relief as the moat cooled his
hot armor. The third and fourth good reasons were the
gleam in each of the dragon's eyes as her snout swung
back and forth across their ranks in continued threat.
Hal followed up his advantage.
"Two of you, get your cloaks off and give them to the
girls."
Hal's hand pointed towards Caelia and Chelinde, huddled
together in their nakedness and staring at their
father's powdery remains gently blowing away in the
wind. An upsetting sight, slightly softened by the fact
that the Master-At-Arms had always been a total bastard
to everyone who'd had the misfortune of knowing him,
especially his own family. But before anybody could
move a patch of air between the soldiers and Hal
clouded over as though a tiny fog patch was forming
there, no bigger than a man -- and forming into the
ghostly outline of a man's figure.
An old man, a hunched man, a man with no hair above his
ears and a white beard down to his belt, holding a long
staff and wearing furs that belonged to no animal that
had ever prowled in these mountains. Gaunt Gregory,
chief warlock to King Argud, somehow appearing to them
all as a shadow of his real self. Instinctively, every
soldier glanced at the castle where the warlock had
lived as long as any could remember, as homebound in
his tower chamber as a miller's donkey tethered to a
grinding stone.
There, on the nearest castle wall, was the hulking
figure of the King, waving his arms in great
excitement, and beside him still stood the dwarfish
figure of his sorcerer. They saw the smaller man
lifting his staff, as tall as himself, and point it
down towards the moat. At the same moment the warlock's
apparition also raised its staff and pointed. At the
place where both staffs were aimed was a head and
flailing arms, the arms desperately struggling to
support their owner's head above the filthy ooze of the
moat. None of the witch's supernatural skills seemed to
avail her now as she fought to keep her mouth and nose
out of the squalid slime she was slowly sinking into.
Gaunt Gregory's orders came not through Hal's ears, but
like some message drifting into his mind from an
already forgotten dream: "Save her, boy, save her! The
King commands it!"
Not only was Hal made aware of the warlock's appeal, so
were the soldiers. They stared at him, then snapped to
attention, as though the fools expected Hal to start
drilling them. What orders did they think a bollock
naked shitbucket emptier could give them? Yet suddenly
he was doing exactly that.
"Who's senior rank leader?"
A gray mustached veteran clapped a hand to his cross-
bow. "I am, boy."
Corporal Clint O'The East Wood would have died rather
than take orders from Hal but that wasn't an option on
offer. Subjects who failed both the King and the Chief
Warlock in important matters suffered far worse fates
than simply ceasing to exist.
"Get that net. Use your swords to cut it apart. Tie
three of the long lengths of rope together. Then give
me one end with a loop in it. I'm going to try to walk
out far enough on the dragon's tail to throw it to the
witch. Keep hold of the other end of the rope and when
the witch has got hold of the loop, haul her in. You
understand?"
"Aye, boy, aye."
It wasn't in the Corporal's training to throw a weapon
onto the ground but he put down his crossbow with the
greatest possible speed, pulled out his blade and went
at the net as though it were a living enemy. Hal turned
to Josephine, pointed at the witch, and then at the
dragon's tail.
"Can I walk along your tail to help the woman?"
Josephine growled, then snorted, a hint of flames as
insubstantial as the warlock's phantom presence
flickering around her nozzles. The dragon was usually
in a good humor, but apparently not where witches were
concerned. Not witches who handled their broomstick
like a tipsy gypsy aloft on an unbroken colt, nor yet
witches who treated everything else in the sky as
unimportant flying objects. Josephine was still deeply
in the grip of sky rage.
"Please, Josephine, the King and the Chief Warlock have
commanded me to save the witch. Will you help me?"
A sickly shade of green appeared on her skin: Hal
understood her doubts only too well. The further he
moved down her tail, the harder it would be for
Josephine to support his weight on it.
"Well, the best you can do, my lady. And quickly!"
Her colors flickered and changed on her coat of scales
again, and then she was backing her haunches over the
edge of the moat, reluctance showing in every movement
as she came into contact with the filth. Her tail she
held as high as she could until she was half lying on
the bank and half floating in the moat, and then she
let it drop straight down on top of the partly
dissolved turds floating on the scummy surface. Hal
noted with surprise the depths and intensity of the
shades Josephine was now displaying: he couldn't
imagine where a nice young female dragon had learnt so
much bad language. Then his attention was broken by two
men-at-arms running up to him with the looped end of a
rope between them. With them was Corporal Clint.
"All ready, boy."
"Get your men to on the other end and to be ready to
haul like oxen. I need a man here at the moat's edge to
put a turn of rope around one of the dragon's back
spikes if you need her help in hauling the witch out."
"Aye, boy." Corporal Clint O'The East Wood turned and
pointed to one of the soldiers. "You, when I shout, go
ahead -- make my belay."
Hal grabbed the loop and stepped onto the base of
Josephine's tail. Which was a big problem itself. The
needle sharp spikes that ran down her back extended
along her tail as well, gradually getting smaller but
no blunter. Right here they were as long as dagger
blades and he had to step between them with his toes
pointed inward like a pigeon's. An uncomfortable
position, rendered much more uncomfortable by the
thought that if he slipped and fell astride the
dragon's tail the spikes would instantly make sure that
Caelia and Chelinde would be both the first and last
girls he'd ever fuck.
"Fria and Odin, Fria and Odin, help me, please!"
He began moving. One step, two steps, three, with the
slime of the moat lapping around his ankles, the
dragon's scales becoming more slippery under his feet.
Exactly as they had both feared, the further along
Josephine's tail he went the harder it was for her to
keep it up above the moat's surface.
Hal stopped to regain his swaying balance and stared
slack jawed at what was happening out in the moat. For
now the warlock's mirage was hovering directly in front
of the witch, arm and staff outstretched above her.
Somehow he seemed to be supporting her because both her
arms were raised above the mire, one pointing towards
the castle and one towards Hal. And close to the castle
wall her broomstick was rising again. Splintered and
broken in the middle, the front half drooping down, the
bundle of twigs mostly burnt off and spattered in
filth, but still rising up into the air as lightly as a
feather floating over a fire. The broomstick stopped at
knee height above the moat and swung around like a
rusty weathercock touched by a summer breeze.
Then, close to Hal, a great bubble of air burst amidst
the floating scum, close to where the witch's cat was
still buried, the tom's tail marking its last resting
place. Hal hoped so anyway, since it was his fist which
had sent the feline familiar tumbling down into the
deep shite and the memory of its malevolent green eyes
would haunt his nightmares for a long time. Yet even as
he looked the thickly furred tail began to disappear
into the moat as if it were a plant which was
shriveling instead of growing. Strange . . .
As the tail vanished more bubbles broke on the surface
of the moat like farts from a cart horse's bum, each
one releasing smells which were even worse than those
from the privy buckets Hal spent so much time emptying.
Then a head appeared in amongst the bubbles and green
eyes opened which regarded Hal in pure hatred. Yet this
wasn't a cat which had surfaced, but a toad: a toad as
big as the cat had been, a toad of brown and yellow,
with masses of red tinged warts and spikes, an
apparition so unlike anything in nature that one look
was enough to know it as a perverse parody of anything
the Gods had ever intended to live on the earth.
Hal shivered in fear as he realized that nightmares
were nothing compared to seeing a terrible enemy
resurrected. The toad came swimming and slopping on its
belly towards him, as near to being in its own element
as any creature could be in this foul bog. It stopped
about four paces from Hal and opened a mouth which
seemed to be the ugliest part of the whole swollen
monstrosity. A sack of living venom perched on a lake
of poison, and a pair of emerald eyes looking at Hal
with a promise of agonizing revenge. He longed to run
home. But he could run nowhere from where he was and
instead waited like a pig penned for slaughtering as a
tongue as long and red as a scarlet tippet flicked
through the air -- and stopped short of the loop of
rope in Hal's hand. Again, the same thing happened. And
this time the toad raised a webbed paw and pointed
towards the witch.
Suddenly, and incredibly, Hal felt almost gratitude
towards the hideous creature. Because now he knew what
it wanted him to do. Much more importantly he knew what
he might no longer have to do himself. As well as he
could he threw the loop towards the toad, watching as
it landed just short of the witch's creature. The foul
creation went forward in one quick movement before
picking up the rope in its mouth as carefully as a cat
holding a kitten. Then it turned and began dragging the
rope behind it as it paddled towards the witch. Hal
paid out the slack, swaying on Josephine's trembling
tail, still terrified but at least hopeful that he need
go no further into this shit filled slough.
The remains of the broomstick reached the witch first,
the upright handles on the broken front piece bent down
towards her like a grazing deer's horns. At the same
instant the dim figure of Gaunt Gregory disappeared, as
if the two magics could not exist together. The witch
began to sink again, her hands shot up over her mud
choked hair and grasped the broom between the twigs and
the break in the handle. Then the broomstick bobbed up
and down in her desperate grip, as though it was
floating on rippling water, but to no avail in lifting
the witch from the clinging mud. A handhold on life she
had, but nothing more. Unless her familiar could reach
her with the rope. And, as big and strong as it was,
the toad seemed to be struggling to pull out the ever
increasing length of rope from Hal.
In desperation he hauled out yet more line from the
hands of the soldier on the bank and took another step
along Josephine's tail. The dragon groaned, a startling
thing for somebody so used to her normal silence.
Nothing could show more plainly how painful it was for
her to keep supporting him on her tail: it was as if
Hal was trying to hold aloft a horseshoe on his little
finger. He felt her trembling underfoot and the tail
sink lower, so that he was up to his knees now in
filth. But the toad had reached its mistress!
Hal thanked his Gods as he saw her take one hand off
the broomstick in a hasty snatch at the rope and then
lift up the dripping loop. With one deft movement she
dropped it over her head and wriggled the free arm
through it before seizing the broom again in a double
handed hold. Then she removed her other hand, pulled
down the free arm and slipped it up through the other
side of the loop whilst grabbing at the broom again.
The loop was safely under her arms and now they could
act!
Hal waved to the Corporal and the soldier on the bank.
A twirl of rope around one of Josephine's spikes and
she was pulling on it, and so were the soldiers,
stamping their feet into the turf as though they were
trying to pull the castle walls down. The problem was
that everybody was worried about the witch, not about
Hal, and even Josephine moved so quickly he was left
behind in the mire as her tail jerked forward. He
lifted his feet clear of her spikes, then toppled
sideways with a cry of despair and grabbed at the rope.
It was certainly moving, moving too quickly, piling up
waves of slime and shit into his face as he clung on to
the slippery strands. The only recourse left to him was
to roll onto his back and clutch the rope desperately
to his chest, the back of his neck then taking the
impact of the crusted filth.
A brief glimpse of the witch behind showed her in much
the same situation, but at least luckier than him by
being able to lift her upper body higher because the
broomstick was traveling with her, still offering the
woman as much support as it could. Not that anybody
could have recognized her as a man, woman or demon, not
with the slime plastered over her limbs, her face, and
her hair -- and Hal was in no much better condition
when the Corporal's men hauled him onto the bank. The
expressions of their faces as they had to touch him
showed that: not that he had any sympathy for their
fastidiousness; they should try his privy bucket
emptying job once in a while.
On the other hand he had every sympathy with the
reluctance the soldiers showed in hauling the witch out
of the midden. A dislike of scraping shit off somebody
is one thing, getting up close and dirty to an enraged
witch was akin to putting a muzzle on a mad dog. Worse,
in fact, much worse. A mad dog might bite your balls
off, but with a mad witch you could end up pissing out
of your ear for the rest of your life. Which is an
embarrassing place to have your cock put on display.
But already the King was galloping out over the
drawbridge on his white stallion and, whatever the
witch might do, everybody else knew what Argud the
Defiler would certainly do if his orders weren't
carried out to the letter. So the soldiers helped the
woman out onto the turf, where she shook them off her
arms as easily as if they were half grown children.
Then she strode across the lumpy turf to Hal, the
broomstick drifting after her at waist height and two
steps behind.
Like a dutiful wife following her husband in a public
place, Hal thought, a hurt wife yet silent and
submissive in showing off her injuries. But there was
nothing submissive about the hot coals glowing in the
witch's eyes behind her mask of mud. And behind her and
underneath the hovering broomstick was that revoltingly
ugly toad, hopping along in great leaps which almost
reached the broomstick at their highest points. Hal's
reckoning was that in about five seconds he was going
to be transmuted into something just as revolting.
Unless he was fated to mix his ashes with the Master-
At-Arm's. How odd if he should die the way he was now,
as naked as when he was born -- and never of any more
importance to the world than a coney born in a burrow
and eaten by a fox.
He looked around for the last time with mortal eyes and
saw Chelinde and Caelia now wrapped in soldier's
cloaks, staring at him with pity on their faces. Caelia
waved at him, sadly, on this moment of parting. Perhaps
it was some consolation that the girls seemed more
upset about his fate than their father's.
So when the witch turned, plucked the broomstick from
the air and then knelt down in front of Hal, holding it
in front of her as if it were a sacrificial offering to
a Druid, every onlooker was stunned. Soldiers, girls,
Corporal Clint and, most of all, Hal.
"Take it, Master. Take it, as I have promised the
warlock."
"What?
She lifted her face, those hot eyes fanned into blue
burning coals with anger: "Put your hand on this
broomstick, you bum ugly little fucker, or I'll skin
you alive!"
Hal instantly stretched out a trembling hand and
touched one of the hand grips. It was like holding onto
part of a water mill built over a raging torrent, the
fierce energy of the rushing waters below passing
through the structure for a curious bystander to feel.
But before he could learn more he snatched his fingers
away again as a shriek of anger came to his ears.
Behind the King's magnificent stallion was an old
donkey, the thin legs of Gaunt Gregory astride it, his
even thinner voice cawing like a squabbling crow.
Completely disregarding all the normal rules of the
court he hacked at the donkey's side with his heels and
rode past the king, limbs flailing and jerking in his
haste like a scarecrow dancing with the wind, the long
staff held out over his mount's big ears in a parody of
a knight's lance.
"What, Morgana -- you break your oath given to another
who has crossed the Abyss between the worlds and
returned? You dare to defy the Great Ones themselves?"
"I gave my word to you to yield my person and my powers
to my rescuer. This boy was my rescuer and I have kept
my word, you jumped up little shit of a half achieved
adept. I have submitted and forsworn myself to him. Now
go hence and lick your own mortal master's backside!"
Nobody present had ever heard or seen the like, a witch
and a warlock squabbling like urchins over a wind
fallen apple. And there wasn't one of the watchers who
didn't wish to be many safe leagues away from the
scene. But one at least had no intention of remaining a
mere spectator. King Argud swung out of his saddle,
dropping as lightly as a feather despite his huge bulk
and large belly. He thrust the horse's reins into the
hand of one of the soldiers, a man who blanched with
fear as he realized that the strange events had lured
him into a fatal error of lese majesty by not
acknowledging his sovereign's presence until now. The
soldier hastily dropped to his knee and bowed his head,
an example followed equally quickly by all present save
the two sorcerers, still bristling at each other.
"Come, Gregory, what's amiss here? You promised to tame
this hawk for me. Yet she sits not quietly on your
gauntlet."
There had once been a court jester unwise enough to
make fun of the King's appearance by reddening his
cheeks, puffing up his cheeks and somehow bulging his
eyes so they seemed twice their normal size. The secret
of how he'd managed that had died with him, in a
unusual and distinctly revolting way, and since then
nobody else had taken any gambles on finding King Argud
in a good mood. Which was clever reckoning, because he
never had any good moods. The best that could be said
for his temperament was that sometimes he managed to
control his blood lust if there seemed to be a good
enough reason -- but that was never more than a
temporary deferment of his appetite for death and
agony. Even the warlock acknowledged the monarch's
worldly power and presence by awkwardly dismounting
from the donkey and bowing low to the wearer of the
crown.
But not so the witch. For all the scum and shit on her,
she stood like a queen, arms folded in open contempt of
King Argud, warlock and soldiers. Hal's eyes moved
towards the now abandoned donkey which seemed
uninterested in anything but eating grass. Would he
have a chance of escaping on it if trouble erupted?
Odin alone knew what this business of the witch and her
broomstick was all about but, irregardless, Josephine
had killed the Master-At-Arms as the court official was
getting ready to kill Hal for tupping his daughters.
That was enough to have Hal impaled on a spike in the
market place for as long as it took to die. Better to
perish trying to run away than wait until the King got
around to passing the death sentence. Let the magicians
fight each other and then he and Josephine could flee
behind a curtain of dragon fire none would be able to
pass. Left and right Hal glanced, awaiting his chance.
Then a sword tip touched his bare flank and Corporal
Clint whispered: "You'll stay here, dirty Harry."
"Harry's not in this story -- Rowling would sue us to
hell and gone. My name's Hal."
"Whatever."
The King's impatient voice called out: "You said you
could make her your slave, Gregory. What happened?"
The spindly legged little warlock was almost dancing
with anger: "She promised to yield herself, body and
soul, to whoever rescued her from the moat. But now she
says it was the boy who rescued her and has pledged
herself to him."
"What!" The bulging eyes swung towards a trembling Hal.
"First the dragon and now the witch. The Gods are
making a plaything of this shithouse emptier. But what
I saw was that it was your help, Gregory, which aided
the witch long enough to call forth her own magic to
her aid. All the boy did was to pass her a rope and
even in that he had help from the dragon and that --
that thing."
King Argud stretched out a boot towards the hunkered
down toad, then jerked it back as a stream of steaming
spit landed next to his toe, instantly turning a patch
of green grass into brown stalks. The toad leered at
him and noisily cleared its throat again.
"Threaten my familiar once more, mortal, just once
more, and I will turn you inside out through your own
arse hole." The witch's voice was low and sharp -- and
to be believed. "Twas the rope which settled the matter
and had it not reached me when it did I would surely
have perished. And without the boy that rope would not
have been there. So I proclaim him my rescuer and
anyone who disagrees may call on the Great Ones for
judgement."
The King looked at Gregory for his advice and the
warlock bit his beard in frustration then threw up his
hands: "Your majesty, nobody calls on the Great Ones
without taking great risks. Their judgements are not to
be reckoned on in advance and Morgana has -- I have
heard -- some influence with them. She is now pledged
to the boy and he is a pledged subject of yours. Let us
be content with that. Hal, stand up."
Hal did so, naked and frightened, and acutely aware of
all the eyes regarding his skinny frame. Not to mention
the Corporal's sword point pricking his backside. So
this was where taking young girls for dragon rides had
gotten him. Then he looked at the Master-At-Arm's
daughters again and suddenly relaxed a little. To blame
himself for wanting them was as pointless as blaming
himself for wanting food -- he had a stomach and a
prick, and both made demands on him that had to be
satisfied.
"Hal, tell Morgana to kneel down in front of the king."
"Morgana!" Even he had heard of a witch with that name,
a witch with a reputation that made the fiercest of
warriors huddle close to the fireplace on dark nights.
The warlock nodded in satisfaction: "Yes, the greatest
witch of them all, Morgana le Fay. Your slave, Morgana
le Fay. Now bid her kneel."
The witch still stood as proudly as ever, and her eyes
fastened on Hal's with a strength of character he could
never begin to match. Nor could he forget for an
instant the pain he'd already felt from her magical
powers and was still feeling from that damned cat's
claw slash. The last thing in the world he wanted to do
was to try to give her any orders. Then he saw the
King's face and remembered the spike in the market
place. No, offending Morgana was the second last thing
in the world that he wanted to do. What totally passed
his understanding was why it should be expected that
any witch who treated a warlock and a monarch with
contempt would obey the lowest and least of all the
King's subjects. But it seemed he had to try.
"Morgana! Morgana le Fay, I command you to kneel for
the king."
Never before had any words of his been so attended to
by so many people. Hal felt like an actor in a May Day
festival, the one playing the part of a prince with a
paper crown and a wooden sword. Yet though his words
ended on a silly sounding squeak the witch did as she
was told. Not only did she kneel, she knelt as an
obedient woman should, on both knees, then demurely
lowered her head until it almost touched the grass. The
King laughed and clapped his hands in satisfaction,
releasing a great sigh of tension amongst the soldiers
as they suddenly felt much safer. Safer, but greatly
puzzled. They looked at Hal's soiled and scrawny body
with questions on their lips. Yet none had so much need
of asking them as Hal himself.
"Sire . . . Sire Gregory."
The warlock beckoned him forward: "Give him a cloak,
someone."
In an instant Hal had a fine woolen cloak to pull
around himself, a cloak instantly ruined by the filth
he was spreading on it. But that was a matter of little
consequence right now. Gaunt Gregory looked at Hal, at
the still prostrate witch, then back to the boy again.
Then, incredibly, he smiled, revealing a row of rotten
and yellowing stumps in lieu of teeth.
"Why, 'tis a simple thing that's happened, boy. Morgana
here was nigh on drowning in our moat and I made her
promise on pain of her witch's power to obey forever
anyone who rescued her. I assisted her and so did you,
and rather than give herself up to me she chose to
yield to you. So now you will compel her to do whatever
the King commands. You understand?"
Hal nodded: "Yes, sire -- I understand." But did the
warlock understand? If he was telling the truth Hal
could command both Josephine and Morgana. With luck he
could break free with both and leave this kingdom
forever. Or better yet . . .
"Boy, look around you."
The King's voice was always a surprise to those hearing
it for the first time, a high pitched squeak from such
a bulk. But it was a small voice never used for small
talk. Hal looked. Every man-at-arms had picked up his
crossbow again and each one was aimed at him alone,
from soldiers so widely spread out that Josephine could
never burn them down all at once.
"Boy, understand me. I can kill you whenever I wish.
The witch would be delighted to be free again and
she'll soon teach your dragon to behave herself. So be
a loyal subject and bid Morgana to do my bidding, and
all will be fair weather between us. As a token of
which, I order you to kneel beside Morgana to be
declared a Duke before all present."
"To be . . ? " He must have misheard the King, but at
least the gesture towards the ground was unmistakable.
Hal knelt, and dared to do it on one knee, as the
soldiers had done.
"When you arise, Hal O'The Shitbuckets, you will be
Duke Merlinus. But before I raise you up I would know
what happened between the witch and yourself. How came
she to fall into our moat?"
Hal answered the King's question as well as he could by
telling what had happened But, like Hal himself, the
monarch had more questions to ask about his uncertain
explanation.
"So, she saw you tupping one of the Master-At-Arm's
little beauties in the dragon's riding net. Why should
she wish to interfere with that?"
"Your Majesty, I do not know."
"I can answer that," Gaunt Gregory said. "When mortals
couple they sometimes reach a level of ecstasy which is
a form of primitive magic. Since magics cannot exist
side by side any practicing adept who comes close to an
act of mortal tupping may find his or her spells much
diminished and perhaps even completely canceled by the
tupping effect. Their magic becomes -- how can I
describe it?"
"Fucked up," the King suggested dryly.
The warlock bowed again: "Your Majesty has it in a
nutshell. Yes, I believe Morgana flew close to the
dragon to examine it without having the slightest
suspicion that a mortal male could be taking a mortal
female in the riding net. By the time she realized her
broomstick magics were being, as you say, fucked up,
there was no time to flee before she must fall from the
sky, so the only thing she could do was to frighten the
pair into abandoning their act of passion."
King Argud chuckled: "Ha, boy, some rise by sin and
some by virtue fall, but here was a great fall by a
great witch because of your sinning. And were my
Master-At-Arms still alive you might have smarted for
your sins with his daughters." His voice paused as he
looked long and carefully at the two sisters. "But a
handsome pair of bolsters for any bed, I grant you, and
since they wish for experience, I myself shall see they
have as much as they can take."
He chuckled again and drew his sword. "Boy, have you
heard anything of my plans for you and your dragon --
and for this witch?"
Hal couldn't stop himself from looking up in
uncontrollable curiosity: "I know nothing of any plans,
your Majesty."
"Then tonight you will learn more, because I'm going to
make you an offer you'll have to peruse. For there are
good reasons why I now proclaim you Duke Merlinus of
this kingdom."
The tip of the sword tapped lightly on each of Hal's
shoulders: "Arise, Duke Merlinus."
Hal stood up and waited for Argud the Defiler to finish
off his joke by decapitating him with the huge sword.
But it didn't happen. Instead the King drove the tip of
the sword into the ground and rested his hands on the
handle, which was still almost as high as Hal's head.
The boy found himself staring at the incredibly fine
stitching along the sides of the Monarch's deerskin
gloves.
"Well, Duke Merlinus, you have bought the wickedest
witch in the wide world with you as a dowry for your
peerage, which is well to your credit. But you are
still the dirtiest and vilest smelling peer that ever
has stood before me. As for the mighty Morgana, she
looks and smells like dog shit. Even your dragon has
the stench of a midden about her. What's to be done
with you all?"
Hal gulped: "There is a stream in the hills, not far
away. Josephine can clean herself there, under the
waterfall. I would be happy to go with there with her."
"Ho, my fine Duke, no doubt you would, but you won't.
The dragon may go there and return presently. You, I
have heard, have betimes bathed yourself in the
drinking trough in the dragon's shed. You may do so
now, and take your bitch witch with you. And we shall
see if you are indeed fit to be a peer. For the two
girls will wash both of you clean and afterwards you
may finish your business with the one you were fucking
before -- if you're man enough to do it with a squad of
soldiers and a king watching you perform!"
Hal stared dumbfounded at the smile on the King's face.
"What's the matter, Duke Merlinus? Have you turned shy
now you're a nobleman?"
Even the soldiers were giggling like schoolgirls. But
they didn't know about the dragon sweat, and they
didn't know that there was enough of it left in that
drinking trough to set a whole village heaving and
humping like a boatload of Ice Land warriors let loose
in a nunnery.
Gaunt Gregory sneered at the filthy boy: "All your
vigor gone already, Duke?"
Hal stood tongue tied. He could tell them, warn them --
but dragon sweat was his great secret and he wanted to
keep it his own. But the alternative! Master of Morgana
le Fay -- and in the grip of the storm lust that dragon
sweat brewed up. Odin alone knew what he might do, and
should Morgana free herself afterwards she'd send him
to hell for it. But afterwards, he might not care.
"Why no, Warlock," Hal suddenly found himself answering
with a grin to match the king's. "All I ask is a favor.
If I start chasing your donkey after I've finished with
the girls, for Odin's sake, please have me shot."
king Argud bellowed with laughter and gave Hal a slap
on the shoulder which almost sent him down on his knees
again. "Why, my young Duke, perhaps you'll serve my
needs better than I might have hoped. Let's put you to
the test and see if your tupping can match your words."
Somehow Hal found the presence of mind to look for his
garments amidst the torn remains of the riding net,
only to be swiftly rebuked by his monarch.
"You no longer need those rags, Duke Merlinus. The
cloak will suffice until you reach the palace and then
we shall outfit you better."
Merlinus -- Merlinus? Why that name? True, the
Shitbucket family had a Tiberian name of Merdinus, now
almost as forgotten as the long gone monks who'd
bestowed it. A suitable name, since merdus was Tiberian
for shit. But Merlinus -- was it because he was going
to be allowed to fly with Josephine again, allowed to
fly like a hawk? May the Gods make it so, for this
seemed to be a day on which anything might happen.
But the sight of Morgana le Fay's luscious hips swaying
ahead of him was enough to make his glowing hopes fade
like the sun hidden by gathering storm clouds. The
likes of her were for warlocks and knights and persons
of royal blood. Now he seemed to be trapped between
king and witch and as sure as cats ate mice, one or
t'other would have his balls spit roasted ere long.
Perhaps she'd laugh at his love making attempts with
the girls so much that he'd fail, despite the dragon
sweat. Perhaps the trough water had made the sweat so
weak by now that the power had completely gone and
king, warlock, witch, soldiers and girls alike would
jeer at his cock as it drooped like a willow branch. A
boy's ending for all of his proud boasts of manhood,
and with all the kingdom to hear and laugh about it
afterwards.
He sidled over against Josephine, the corporal close
behind him at every step, Clint O'The East Wood's
finger never leaving the trigger of his oversized
magnum bolt crossbow. Hal desperately wanted to slip
his hand underneath the dragon's wing to seek for a
trace of sweat but there was no chance of doing it
unobserved. Hal felt a sudden and unexpected anger
burning inside him at being so closely guarded. Mayhap
he'd teach these soldiers another lesson in dragon
power before long. He spoke to Josephine.
"My lady, go and clean yourself. When you return I may
wish you to warm the water in your trough for me again.
If so, you must make it as hot as you can."
A twirling pattern of interrogation lines swirled
around her neck. "Yes, Josephine, as hot as you can.
Now fly -- and return quickly."
The dragon lurched forward and upwards, her wings
smacking against the air once more. The ever alert
corporal noticed Hal's sad expression as Josephine flew
off.
"What's amiss, young Duke?"
The boy shrugged his shoulders: "Why, to see my dragon
fly whilst I cannot leave the ground."
Clint O'The East Wood laughed: "Duke, how can a man
want to fly? Do you want a nest with eggs to sit on as
well?"
Not for he first time Hal realized that he was closer
to Josephine than he was to many of his own kind. Why,
perhaps he was even closer to the witch as well. She
might be evil incarnate but at least she was a flier
too. Not that her broomstick seemed good for much right
now, but perhaps it could be repaired and remagicked.
If it could be -- oh, what a thought!
For a second Hal dreamed of learning how to fly a
broomstick. To flash over rooftops and meadows, around
trees and across lakes, overtaking gaggles of geese and
flying so high that the mountains themselves crouched
down beneath your feet. All the filth and cruelty and
everyday battles of life left below as he explored the
kingdom of the sky, a kingdom which over-arched and
over-reached all earthly ones. A fine notion,
especially for a shit smeared boy who owned nothing in
the world but a borrowed cloak. And then his high
flying dreams fell back to earth as he found that the
group had reached the dragon's shed.
For some reason everybody else hung back and let Hal
walk in first, even though Josephine was only a faraway
dot in the sky. Yet the caution which most other people
showed in approaching a dragon's den still seemed to be
having its effect because only the girls walked in
close behind him. Hal stepped into the sandpit and drew
his toes through the still damp sand, then looked up,
exchanging rueful looks with the sisters. How much had
changed so quickly. Truth to tell, he was in no obvious
position to complain. Dubbed a Duke, gaining a witch
for a slave, praised by the King -- whatever the
dangers to come, it was still far better treatment from
the Gods than Caelia and Chelinde had received:
orphaned, unprotected and lusted after by a ruler who
treated his dogs far better than his women. Hal had
never intended their misfortune but it left a bitter
taste in his mouth after the joy the girls had given
him.
"What are we to do?" Chelinde asked him, looking
suddenly grown up and serious.
"Why, only what we did before. But first you'd best
serve as Morgana's hand maidens. There are two pieces
of soap left. One for her, one for me."
"And afterwards? What we did before, Hal? With all
these soldiers watching?"
"Aye, and the King too, lass -- tis a Royal Command
performance."
The boy smiled and lifted his hand to chuck her under
the chin, but paused as he saw the filth on his fingers
and the momentarily revealed loathing in her eyes as
she glanced to where the King was entering the barn.
"Be of good heart, girls. What matters who watches if
we enjoy ourselves? And what I can do for you later, I
promise I will."
Hal went to the trough, splashed his fingers in it,
pondered. The water was still luke warm -- that was
indeed a measure of how quickly his life had changed
course. He filled two buckets and set them down in the
sandpit. Then he turned towards the witch and gulped.
For the first time since his one swift glimpse of her
riding the broomstick Hal had a chance to run his eyes
over the magnificent shape underneath the clinging mud.
Morgana's breasts were perfection, her unskirted legs
promised delights beyond belief; Hal gulped again, and
decided that perhaps the diluted dragon sweat was still
potent, even with the merest splash of it on his hands.
"Lie down on the straw, Morgana. On your back."
Her eyes glittering with repressed emotions, the witch
obeyed.
"Take off your cloak, Chelinde. Spread it over her."
The girl's face was almost as angry as the witch's as
she undid the throat cord, but she obeyed, her and her
sister spreading the cloak over Morgana's body. Then
Chelinde stood self-consciously, hands by her side and
eyes downcast as she tried to ignore the soldiers
lining each side of the barn, each of them grinning at
her nakedness and with no threatening dragon around
this time to distract them from leering at her body.
"Your cloak too, Caelia. Strip Morgana and then clean
her with the water and the cloak, as well as you can.
Mayhap some straw will help as well."
The King grinned but raised no objection at taking
another look at the sisters in her raw state. Nor did
he seem to mind that the girls were reaching underneath
Hal's cloak to get at the witch's indecent attire.
Argud was a hunter and enjoyed the thrill of a drawn
out chase. His soldiers also licked their lips as they
saw the swaying tits and taut bottoms of the figures
kneeling at either side of the cloak to fumble with
Morgana's tight fitting leathers.
"Aid them, witch," Hal ordered.
She looked at him, for a second only, and it was like
being forehead to forehead with a mad bull. But her
hands moved swiftly under the cloak, undoing the laces
and straps which held her garments in place, then
rolling from one side to another as she helped Caelia
and Chelinde tug her jerkin over her arms. Hal would
have liked to have kept watching but the desire to
start removing the filth from his own body was even
more compelling than staring at Morgana's movements
underneath the cloak. So he took his own cloak off,
seized two handfuls of straw and began rubbing down his
arms and legs.
Straw and sand and water, straw and sand and water,
over and over, tickling and scraping and soothing his
skin in turn as black rings of removed corruption
spread around him. The King's voice boomed out in glee.
"Plenty of sand for her as well, girls, all over her
tits. I want them as smooth as your arses."
At the king's jest several of the soldiers closest to
the straw pile also dared to smile in approval. They
were gaping at Morgana and when Hal stared at the wet
cloak adhering to the witch's now naked body he
understood why. There were curves and hollows and a
sheer symmetry of female promise underneath the damp
wool that was more magical than anything a warlock
could conjure up, be he the greatest adept ever.
Chelinde and Caelia put their hands beneath the cloak
again to rub Morgana's perfectly shaped dugs, setting
them gently swaying. The witch whimpered as her nipples
were scoured and every soldier lucky enough to be able
to see her instantly summoned up his blood and
stiffened his sinews. In fact most of the men were
already more tightly cocked than their cross bows.
Hal grabbed his cloak and began wiping the traces of
sand and wisps of straw from his skin. But his eyes
stayed on the females, noting the increasingly coy
glances the once proud Morgana was casting towards the
crowd of watchers. Surely a witch couldn't be affected
by the dragon sweat like a normal human? But there
hadn't been any dragons around since time out of mind
and maybe witches knew no more about them than anybody
else. Morgana had certainly badly underestimated
Josephine's abilities in their aerial bitch fight.
Maybe the sweat did work on her. Certainly she'd had
enough of the treated water splashed and rubbed onto
her body to give it every chance.
As for Caelia and Chelinde, just having their hands in
the bucket seemed to be affecting them like piglets
suckling on a barrel of mead. They were giggling at
each other now across Morgana's body and blatantly
shaking their own freshly budding teats for the
audience's appreciation. The witch began twisting her
legs and hips from side to side as the sisters scrubbed
at her hidden body, her mouth half open as she began
moaning. Morgana's long fingers rose up to stroke the
girl's arms as though encouraging them to inflict more
pain on her --- and Hal's own prick reared up like a
stallion sniffing a mare in heat. He held the bundled
wet cloak in front of him and rubbed it against his
straining flesh as he decided what to do.
"Morgana, stand up. Chelinde, Caelia, hold the cloak
around her."
The witch put her hands down beside her and sat up, got
on her knees and stood, the sisters keeping the cloak
up around the top of her swaying breasts, the damp
fabric displaying the perfect contours of the
unsupported flesh and the hard nipples, each as
perfectly round as a Tiberian groat. Morgana's legs up
and even beyond her knees were bare, showing off smooth
thighs made in heaven for a man to slide his hand
along.
"Go to the drinking trough. Step into it. Then take off
the cloak and the girls will soap you. All over."
She obeyed, still walking with infinite pride, head and
shoulders above her escorts, the girls beside her
holding onto the cloak, their eyes darting from one
male spectator to another. But always returning to Hal
-- and the King. His Majesty was breathing even more
heavily than usual and he seemed fascinated by the
display being unfolded in front of him.
There was scarcely a ripple in the water as Morgana
entered it gracefully. Looking directly at Hal, she
shrugged the cloak off her shoulders. Without a stitch
on, she stood before them with one hand flat by the
side of her leg, the other one between her legs. And
what might have been thought an affection of modesty
took on a different meaning when the spectators saw
that the fingers pressed over her patch of dark hair
were gently moving as she felt herself. The witch
giggled at the open mouthed astonishment of the
soldiers, lifted up both hands and held up her Eve's
pair to the spectator's eyes. Certainly Hal's eyes felt
as if they were popping out of his head as he watched
her proudly displaying a body of pure wantonness. Then
Caelia and Chelinde began working their hands over
Morgana, leaving trails of suds and pure white skin
behind them in spreading patches.
Hal stumbled forward, stepped into the other end of the
trough facing the witch and threw away his cloak,
letting her see his rampant lance. Morgana smiled at
him: "Shall the girls wash you now, Master?"
"One of them," he grunted.
He was grunting because Morgana's hand had reached
forward and gently tweaked the tip of his cockhead.
This was unbelievable, to have a woman like this in
thrall of him, doing his every bidding. Then she moved
back, holding her hands up behind her head for him to
better see her body as Caelia continued soaping it.
Chelinde in turn rubbed her hands over Hal, cleaning
him quickly but thoroughly, arms, chest, back, legs and
then rubbing her slippery palm up and down his shaft.
Caelia laughed and applied her hands just as thoroughly
to Morgana's milk white curves and the red roses
tipping them.
There was a vicious sounding twang and zip from nearby.
Hal glanced around to see that one of the soldiers had
accidentally fired his cross bow in his excitement, the
bolt sticking out of the straw littered dirt floor only
a few paces from the trough. But nobody seemed to care,
not the King, not even the Corporal. In fact it seemed
as if there might soon be some more accidental
discharges amongst the watchers. None of them said or
did anything as Morgana knelt down in the trough, water
slopping around her waist, and put her hand with
Chelinde's on the boy's throbbing pride. Together the
two woman stroked it, and then Caelia joined them, her
fingers tickling his balls. Hal called out in pleasure,
his arms around each sister's shoulders and then
something very large and fat plopped into the water
between himself and the kneeling witch. The toad sank
out of sight, down below the foam covered water and
Hal's toes curled up in readiness for a savage bite or
sting.
It never came. What did come was a string of bubbles
breaking between Morgana's opened legs and her
response, a wild cry with her eyes rolled back in
apparent pain. Hal wondered why the toad was attacking
its mistress. And then he realized what was really
happening as Morgana bent forward, pushed Chelinde's
hand aside and took him deeply into her mouth in one
swift movement. There was a gasp and a stir around the
barn as everybody saw the boy's stiffness disappear
between the witch's scarlet lips and her cheeks
contract with the effort of sucking off her master. And
all saw how her body was quivering and jerking as
though she was being eaten from below. Which she most
surely was. Now they all knew why a witch's familiar
was so named.
It was the King who moved first. He bellowed, unbuckled
his sword belt, threw it aside and swayed forward like
a bear untimely woken from winter's sleep. He seized
Chelinde first, from behind, kneading her damp teats in
his huge fingers, squashing them up with only the stiff
tips standing proud of the royal knuckles. Caelia
instantly bent forward to suck on her sister's nipples,
sending Chelinde squirming and pressing her bare bottom
against the King's crutch. He roared again, pushed her
away and began tearing at the lacing in the front of
his breeches The girls knelt before him, wild eyed,
their fingernails tugging at his cords with the same
urgency. Out from behind the loosened restraints came a
cock that seemed as thick as Hal's wrist and almost as
long as one of Corporal Clint's overlength bolts.
Caelia still went down on her knees without hesitation
to suckle on it as well as she could, her lips
stretched out like an snake swallowing a rat. Yet the
King was watching the
trough, not the girl at his feet.
"Fetch the witch out, boy, fetch her out! I'm going to
give her a royal tupping!"
It would have meant death to argue with the monarch at
any time. Right then was certainly not a good time to
even think about hesitating. Even when Hal was getting
ready to empty himself over Morgana's tongue: "Out,
witch, out. The King wants you."
The King did indeed. He was already lying on his back
and holding his thick veined scepter steady for one
hand as Chelinde and Caelia licked the shiny red length
like cows at a salt lick. As Morgana stood up he
beckoned her to come forward. She glanced at Hal, he
nodded and she obeyed, trickles of water and foam
running down her beautifully proportioned legs before
she stood astride King Argud and squatted down, her
arms behind her back on either side of his legs to take
her weight as Caelia and Chelinde rubbed the head of
the king's donkey sized dick against Morgana's sex.
Then she squealed and dropped down hard on top of the
royal battering ram as if stopping it from trying to
escape.
Her hips jerked up and down and she leaned forward on
her arms again, with a girl on each side of her,each
girl holding onto one of Morgana's large teats, keeping
the bags of flesh steady for Argud to squeeze. Morgana
screeched again but Hal cared nothing for that in his
need to finish what he'd begun with her. He stepped
close to the writhing bodies, grabbed a tuft of
Morgana's pitch black hair and thrust his hot flesh
between her cupid bow lips again. She sucked on it as
eagerly as before but Hal hardly noticed. He was
staring wide eyed at the trough as the water in it
splashed over the wooden sides and something moved
inside it, something standing up where the toad had
been,
This was no toad though, nor was it a cat. It was
something akin to a child, about as high as a grown
man's waist, brown skinned, bald headed, large ears,
green tinged eyes which glittered like iced moss in
sunlight, a squashed nose and lips that seemed more
horn than flesh. The small though wide shouldered
figure leapt over the side of the trough, landed neatly
and sprang forward.
One thing about the goblin which was definitely a
prominent feature was the prick and balls it displayed,
a prick rampant for action and much larger than a
normal one, for all the goblin's smaller size. It was
more like a cock with a body attached than a body with
a cock attached. But whatever the arrangement the body
moved swiftly, the hard on in front bobbing up and down
as short but hard muscled legs carried it forward to
where it wanted to be. Which was behind Morgana, the
glittering eyes staring at her jerking buttocks as the
goblin rubbed some wet soap around his massive
erection. He slapped her ass lightly with both palms as
if to let her know she was there, guided his bulging
shaft between Morgana's quivering crescents and then
forced it deeply between them. Air spurted around Hal's
wet shaft as Morgana screamed out in passion and Argud
roared in satisfaction. He was so busy sucking and
chewing on Morgana's nipples that Hal wondered if the
monarch had even noticed he
was sharing his feast with uninvited guests.
Then the boy yelped with his own uncontrollable
pleasure as he spurted into Morgana's mouth, making her
splutter as droplets of white fluid rolled down the
witch's chin. Chelinde put her arm across the top of
Morgana's neck and began licking the spilt liquid up
like a kitten cleaning a platter of milk, a licking
which ended with a passionate kiss between the two
females. Then Caelia put a hand up to Hal's shrunken
organ and lapped at it with her tongue. All three of
the females seemed to be mad with lust and as soon as
Morgana and Chelinde saw what Caelia was doing for Hal
they joined in enthusiastically. The boy turned one way
and another to let each of them have equal access to
him.
It was, he thought, something which ought to make an
entry in the Mead Brewer's Book of Records. One king,
one goblin and one shitbucket emptier all fucking one
witch at the same time, with a couple of hand maidens
keeping things going. Not something you saw very often.
The soldiers certainly hadn't. A group of them were
standing within arm's length of Hal, eyes and knobs
bulging at what were witnessing. Hal grabbed both of
the sisters by the hair, lifted them and pushed them
towards Corporal Clint and his comrades.
"Go on, boys, help yourselves."
It wasn't really what he wanted to do but he needed a
distraction to throw those crossbows off their aim. And
it worked. Bows and swords and belts fell to the ground
as the soldiers grabbed the girls and threw them on
their backs on top of the straw pile, bedding them down
in convenient fucking positions. The rest of the guards
saw what was happening and rushed to join the queues.
The only thing which distracted them at all was a sound
like a giant owl hooting, a sound coming from the
goblin. Within seconds the sound was mixed with another
yell of triumph from the King and a long drawn out yelp
from Morgana. The trio of bodies collapsed in a tangle,
the goblin and the king to lie undisturbed, but not
Morgana. Clint O'The East Wood grabbed her arm, lifted
her up and then dropped her on the straw pile next to
two hairy backsides jerking up and down on top of
Chelinde and Caelia. Very quickly the Corporal's arse
was on public display as well as he fucked Morgana with
all the exp
ertise of a seasoned campaigner and military trained
rapist. The accumulated lust in the air could have been
set off by a candle flame and nobody even noticed
Josephine slithering back into the barn. The men were
either fucked, fucking or anticipating a fuck, and the
females -- well, the females were otherwise occupied.
Dragon sweated out of their minds and getting drilled
from all directions
So nobody saw the dragon enter: nobody who cared,
anyway. And certainly nobody noticed Hal's nod towards
the drinking trough, nor his wink to Josephine. The
dragon bowed her head, put her snout into the water and
snorted -- not once, not twice, not thrice, but four
times. Hal grabbed a discarded sword, reversed it with
his hands holding tightly to the scabbard, then ran
around and up to the top of the straw pile. The
Corporal was gasping in satisfaction as he pumped his
seed into Morgana's body. He gasped even more loudly as
Hal hit him behind the ear with the sword handle, but
only once. Then Hal grabbed at the witch's hands to
pull her out from underneath Clint O'The East Wood's
stunned body.
"Come with me -- now."
"What?"
"Come with me -- I order you."
One of the waiting soldiers stepped forward and raised
his fist to threaten Hal. There was a kind of thumping
sound, water from the trough flew up and a bank of
steam twice Hal's height rolled outwards as all the
dragon fire in the trough mingled with the water and
turned much of it into hot vapor. Visibility within the
barn became a few paces, then scarcely one or two. Hal
began hauling the witch in the direction he knew the
door was. He knew because he'd noted the draught coming
from it beforehand and simply followed the gap in the
steam cloud. Or at least he would have if Morgana
didn't seem to be taking so long to get moving.
"Hurry up, you dozy bitch!"
"Oh, Master, it's such fun . . . "
"You stupid fucking woman, it's the dragon sweat in the
water that's got us so excited. It's magic, we're spell
bound, and we'll both be dead if we don't escape from
the King. Run!"
Morgana's normal iron will seemed to emerge again as
she began to understand what had happened to her. Hand
in hand they ran out through the doorway, then stopped,
panting. Hal had never known a day like it for
exercise. And before he could make another move he was
astonished to see the goblin come running out the steam
filled door as well, the tip of his now slack prick
halfway to his knees and pulling Caelia alongside him
by a long strand of her hair. But Hal's surprise at
that was nothing compared to seeing Chelinde also
emerging, squealing, jumping and being forced along by
the splintered end of Morgana's broomstick jabbing at
her bum. It suddenly occurred to Hal that when he grew
up and started getting drunk at taverns he'd have at
least one good story to tell in his cups.
"Get into the castle, quick," Hal urged Morgana.
"Josephine is coming with us. If we can get the
drawbridge raised now we'll be inside and the King and
most of his soldiers will be outside. Then we'll have a
chance to parley."
Morgana shook her head: "Better to tell the dragon to
burn down the barn and have done with them all now."
"No! If they die I'm a Duke no longer. There'd be no
witnesses. The King must sign my letters patent and
proclaim them. Seize the castle and we can negotiate
with him."
She nodded, still panting: "That warlock. He's not
here. He could stop you."
Hal knew she was right. And if Gaunt Gregory wasn't
here he had a bloody good idea of where he would be.
"Josephine, go to the castle. Put a fireball through an
arrow slit in the top of the tower, Burn Gaunt
Gregory's chamber right out and him with it."
"No -- no!" Morgana shook her head. "My magical
supplies are destroyed or lost. I need his. I must go
now, take him by surprise. My broom will almost support
my weight, even though it's damaged. Let me ride it and
hold onto one of the dragon's claws. She can lift me to
the top of the tower and leave me there to deal with
Gregory. Then the dragon can help you in the courtyard
to get the drawbridge lifted up."
"So be it. Josephine, take Morgana up to the chamber's
lookout platform."
Some of the dragon sweat tainted steam was drifting out
of the dragon's shed: half a dozen warriors inside were
now visible, their breeches around their knees and all
of them frantically jerking themselves off.
"Huh", Morgana snorted as she swung her bare legs
astride the broomstick. "I always did say that the
military were a load of wankers."
Then a giant figure came running out of the steam with
a raised sword that glittered along its length in the
high sun. The King was berserker angry, the dragon was
spiraling upwards towing the naked witch on her
broomstick and an equally naked group of two girls, one
boy and a goblin ran for their lives towards Giant's
Pass castle.
Will Spearshaker was still sitting by the moat,
stinking, scorched and sour at life as he watched the
passersby without any great interest. You couldn't
weave a good story out of happenings which seemed to
make no sense at all. Which was about Hal's thinking as
well, because now the moment of decision had passed he
had no idea at all why he'd hit Corporal Clint O'The
East Wood and provoked the king's anger. But he had an
idea about somebody who might have cast a spell on him
to make him do it.
THE END
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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 37