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Copyright © 2003 Frenulum. All rights reserved.
nce upon a time, in a Kingdom far away...
...there was a wedding. Princess Penelope of Pfizistan, a comely maiden of but sixteen summers, was wed to Prince Bert, as their parents had agreed many years past.
The marriage was crafted of statesmanship and politics and economics, but above all of the need for royal succession, and had nothing to do with the personalities, hopes, desires, or feelings of the Princess or the Prince. This was not unusual: royal mergers were ever thus — nor had Penelope or Bert been schooled to expect anything else.
Penelope was a fair, pretty maid, erect of carriage and most well-favored in figure. Her hair was the reddish-brown of autumn, and fell in silken waves to her slender waist. Her green eyes sparkled in a friendly, inviting face, and a faint dust of freckles could be seen by anyone with the license — or boldness — to look closely.
Prince Bert was — well, in sooth, he is the man in the tale, and no one cares how well or ill he looked. But, not to shirk my duty in telling it, he was a hale, robust lad; and if not favored with the most handsome face in the land, at least compensated with an open, honest, and good-natured one.
The ceremony was announced, arranged, and practiced according to the customs that had served for as long as memory reached, and was attended by everyone of consequence; while those of no consequence lined the roads to the castle and cheered lustily at every arriving carriage, chair, or horse. For if it was never quite clear who each passing Earl or Countess might be, it was still a rare holiday, and worth spending cheerfully.
The wedding itself was solemn, but soon enough over, and the young Princess shyly took her Prince’s arm to lead the way from chapel to feast.
The feast, too, was a grand success; but as it does on all such occassions, excess eventually won the day. Many a nobleman, wits addled slowly with wine, quickly with brandy, or instantly with treble-refined smag, was carried discreetly out on a convenient plank by servants to whom it was a familiar task; and many a noblewoman, feet weary from dancing, thought privily on her way home of some liason she had made under cover of the innocent ball.
One by one the retainers escorting the Bride or the Groom came to an end of their duties, and fell away from the party to seek their own hasty meals and brief rest, until at last the young couple was enchambered in their own royal apartments, alone and servantless, clad in their elegant night dresses, and quite suddenly awkward, nervous, and quiet.
For both knew that their marriage had many purposes, all of which had been fulfilled by the joining of their family lines at the altar, save for one: the birth of an heir, bringing the assurance of unbroken rule.
And here, it is my task to acquaint you with a most suprising truth about Princess Penelope and Prince Bert. Attend me with care, now, for from this root stem all marvels to come.
The Princess had had the education usual for girls of her class. She knew languages, from the Old High Pfizian of the great epics, to modern Groman, to the vapid nasal moaning of the neighboring Phronks. She knew what dress to wear to what ball, how to address anyone from a Queen to a cook to a kitten, and no fewer than fourteen types of embroidery. She could draw a little, and sing a little better than that, and play quite well indeed upon the bandolonio. She had been taught to dance, to shoot a light bow, and to play a winning game of Bonerattle. She had, in fact, had so many teachers, tutors, schoolmistresses, coaches, and advisors, that there had never been a way to keep track of what Princess Penelope had actually learned, and what she had not.
And so it came about that, though suffering from a surfeit of schooling, she had never had Introduction to Sex.
Prince Bert, of course, had been raised in similar circumstances, and was just as steeped in lessons as Penelope. He knew geography — as much as anyone did, in those days — and the politics of every kingdom of any importance. He knew which statesmen were figureheads, which grey eminences ran which departments, and who employed the ablest assassins. He had learned how to ride, how to fight with sword or cudgel, and how to tell when discretion was the better part of valor. He knew a little about agriculture, and a little more about smithing, and quite a lot indeed about navigation. Many had been responsible for parts of his education, but no one for the whole.
And so, as had his bride, Bert had missed out on Basic Biology.
The sorry state of affairs so produced was that, while both young people well understood that their first responsibility was the production of an heir, neither one of them had had a word of instruction on how to bring about that happy result.
Thus it came to pass that the two newlyweds faced each other shyly, unsure of themselves in this, their first private meeting, and uncomfortable with the awkward silence.
“Well —” said the Princess.
And “You —” said the Prince, at just the same time. And with the silence broken, there followed the familiar exchange of After yous and No pleases and But I insists that such conversational collisions invariably produce.
“The wedding went well,” spoke the Princess, after they had solved the matter of precedence.
“You looked lovely,” replied the Prince, who at once began to blush, unused as he was to addressing personal remarks to a high born lady — unused, in fact, to speaking to girls at all.
If the blush was evident on the Prince’s countenance, its echo was even more so on the fair-complexioned face of his bride. But she knew an honest compliment when one was offered, having heard so many false ones from courtiers and other seekers of favor in her sixteen short years, and replied with gracious thanks.
And slowly, but in the sure way of such things, the two young people found themselves in conversation of increasing ease and ebbing formality, until encroaching darkness brought Prince Bert to the realization that it was time to replace the candles and restoke the fire. As he went about the simple chores, he stole a glance or two at the Princess, and summoned the courage to speak even more frankly to her.
“My lady,” said Bert, “I feel I must say that, while I know that today our marriage is but an instrument of policy, I have every hope that real liking will grow between us, and I avow to you now my intention to be husband to thee in truth, and not just in law.”
The Princess made as if to speak, but the Prince, knowledgable that his courage would flag did he not complete his declaration at a single venture, pressed on. “And, my lady, I must also say, I have always had the greatest admiration for thee, and have cherished our few meetings, and, and, and... I am most thankful that Fate brought thee to me, and not another.” His boldness spent, the Prince lapsed into silence, wondering if the Princess would meet his outburst with scorn.
But Penelope answered him simply, as her good heart guided her, by crossing the room to the Prince, standing close in front of him, and raising her face to be kissed.
Oh, it was a simple kiss, a chaste kiss, a mere brush of lips; but tender withal, and rife with portent. You who hear me will cast your minds to long-ago memories of your own first kiss, how you trembled afterward, how it seemed that your childhood had slipped away like mist in a breeze: and thus it was for the new-wed couple. If a moment must be named where they truly became husband and wife, it was then, in the bedchamber, in the first soft pressure of each other’s lips.
They parted, and looked at each other with mutual astonishment, tinted with embarassment, scented with excitement, and, in the manner of all such couples, resolved all of these with another kiss. Still sweet, and soft, and chaste, but now with a tentative embrace, growing less so as their kiss deepened, until they clung to each other with — if not yet love, then already a true fondness — and with the last hint of awkwardness banished from the room.
They talked through yet another candle-length, perfectly at ease now, and of diverse subjects as young people are wont to do. Penelope confessed that she would always watch Bert when he rode by the palace, which made him blush anew; Bert averred that, in his humble view, a few freckles were the prettiest ornament a girl could ever wish for, which made the Princess lower her head in modesty, secretly thrilled. Their talk was interrupted often by renewed kisses, which did not lose their charm or sweetness by repeated practice, and both began to become dimly aware of a new tension in the air, with which kissing and embracing had something to do.
It was Bert who finally raised the one issue they had both been skirting.
“My lady,” quoth he, “I confess to you now a great ignorance on a matter of much consequence. I know that we are charged with giving the Kingdom its heir, but — oh, thou wilt think me a mere bumpkin — I have had no advice on this save that of mine Uncle, who at chapel after the wedding smote me on the back, saying ‘Now take her straight to bed and make a baby.’ Yet, though here we sit on the bed, and though I am willing to do my duty, I know not its course. I am humbly sorry, dear lady, but I know not how.”
The Princess, relieved that the important subject had been broached, turned an excited face to her new husband.
“But I do know, my lord. Two years ago, I chanced to spy my cousins, the Duke and Duchess of Drumbly, sporting in their chamber at the palace. And though I could watch but for a few moments without being discovered, I learned well the roles of husband and wife in the marriage bed. My lord, in my mind’s eye I have rehearsed the vision many and many a time since.”
“Truly, my lady?” exclaimed Bert. “This is fortune indeed! For I confess that everything about marriage — indeed, about women — is a closed book to me. Wilt not thou tell me now all that thou saw?”
The pretty Princess blushed and lowered her eyes. “I will do as thou commandeth, my lord, in this as in all matters. But telling will be awkward, for I know not the words for all I saw. May not we act the parts together, as I show thee what I know?”
To this the Prince agreed, and thus commenced a most curious lesson, on which the fate of the entire Kingdom was to turn.
“To begin, my lord, thou needst be free of thy bedgown,” began Penelope. And although Prince Bert could rightly be described as shy, his shyness was not that of the body, for no attention had ever been called to it by the servants who dressed him, or the companions who bathed in the river with him. It was therefore without modesty that the Prince unlaced his gown and pulled it over his head.
At the sight of his broad shoulders, his muscular chest, his thickly sinewed arms and legs in the glow of fire and candle light, Princess Penelope felt an unaccustomed stirring deep within her — a warmth, a feeling not unlike dizziness — that was close kin to the feeling that Bert’s kisses aroused, but of a very different intensity. And when she let her gaze travel to the center of her husband’s body, the warmth bloomed anew, and stronger still. The scene she had observed between her cousins began once again to fill her memory.
Prince Bert waited with a full measure of patience, as the Princess looked at him with an air of distraction, but in time he prompted, “What is next, my lady?”
The Princess, recalled to her senses, pointed to that which had so captivated her gaze. “Prithee, my lord, canst thou name this part to me?”
The Prince, who had felt that he was the sole possessor of ignorance in the chamber, was taken aback — how could the Princess not know? Had she lived her life without ever speaking of her own organ? — but answered without revealing his surprise. “Why, pizzle is the proper name, my lady,” quoth he, “But not the name in common use. We say prick, instead, or some call it cock — it matters not, both mean the main part. And these...” The Prince lifted his penis to reveal his next subject. “Some call them nuts, others stones, and still others balls. But I knoweth not their purpose.” He let go his member, allowing it to fall back into its customed place.
During the Prince’s speech, the Princess felt herself filling with a great excitement and anticipation. It was not her husband’s words that moved her, but the knowledge she alone held of what was to come. That soon, it would be her hand on that curious — what, again? — yes, prick; that this very night, she would take it within her, and that the scene that had so enchanted her for the past two years would be replayed, with herself and the Prince taking her cousins’ places.
But the Princess had one more point of curiosity to resolve. “My lord, when I espied the Duke and Duchess of Drumbly, the Duke had also a part like thine, but not until they had done with their coupling did it point downward, and move easily, as thine does. At first, it was upward-looking, and appeared quite rigid. Dost thine also have that aspect?”
“In truth, my lady, it has done, at times past. Often when I wake of a morning it is as you say.”
“Canst thou make it so now, my lord? To my cousins it seemed of import. In sooth the Duchess more than once paused to pass a remark on the hardness of the Duke’s member.”
The Prince replied sadly, “I much regret, my lady, that I am not the master of mine own cock. It is stiff when it is stiff, and lax when it is lax, and not when I will it so.”
The Princess cupped her chin in her hand, a charming gesture, and puzzled over this unexpected development. Certainly the Duke’s cock had been hard when she crept into her hiding place to steal knowledge of the marriage bed, and certainly it had not been when all was done. But Bert could not command himself to rise, and Bert, being her husband, could of course do anything that any other man could do, and better. And therefore the Duke... the Duke...
“My lord,” burst the Princess excitedly, “I believe I know the answer. Thy cock must be at first soft and downward, for that is how it lies ordinarily, and then it must stiffen as we begin to couple — that is what I did not see of my cousins — and then it must take its ease again as we conclude!”
Now it must be said that Prince Bert was still behind the Princess is the fullness of his understanding, but he took pleasure in her enthusiasm nonetheless; and to the Prince’s credit he had not lost sight of his duty — he would heed the Princess and learn what she knew, however odd, and to the best of his ability do whatever was required.
The Princess, barely restraining her eagerness to begin, bade the Prince to sit on the edge of the bed. And then, because it had been so with the Duchess, she unlaced her own bedgown and drew it off.
To say that Prince Bert was astonished at what he saw would be an untruth, for it would go not a hundredth part of the way to describing his emotion. For you are to consider that, when the sun had risen that morning, Bert had been a shy bachelor who had barely had words with any woman but his cook, and few enough with her; whereas now, in the space of but a few hours, he had spoken easily with a girl, a beautiful girl, a beautiful girl with green eyes and rich russet tresses and a dusting of freckles and a soft, lovely, sweet, tender pink mouth, a mouth he had kissed again and again and which had kissed him back with the same eagerness and in the same happiness of discovery; he had held her and felt the strangeness of her body against him, soft parts and round parts and parts either firm or yielding, and all a mystery begging to be explored; he had felt the brush of another’s breath on his face, and taken delight in her scent, and in the sound of her voice — in short, Bert’s world was up-side-down, and he was fast, oh so fast, falling in love — and suddenly the Princess stood in front of him, nude, gazing fixedly at the floor in front of her feet.
For the Princess, with some little knowledge of matters between man and woman, could not be said to be free of shyness in this, her first exposure to another.
At a glance, Prince Bert absorbed a hundred details that cried out for long and deliberate study: Penelope’s dainty toes, her slender ankles, the graceful curve of her legs — egad! a woman’s legs, a sight so potent that alone it could slay a man with shock and pleasure — the thatch of auburn hair at her center, where an answer could be found to the Prince’s earlier perplexity. No prick? How did she piddle? Did girls piddle? He forebore to ask, not wanting to increase his bride’s estimation of his foolishness.
He continued to gaze upon her, his eyes traveling upward past the intriguing curves of Penelope’s narrow waist, upward until — until Prince Bert was granted some new knowledge of himself. For that was when Prince Bert discovered that he liked breasts.
Loved Princess Penelope’s breasts, at least. They were not huge, by objective measure, but full and round and proud enough that, given the Princess’s small frame, they were magnificent mounds indeed: sweet pale hills of inviting firm flesh, capped with dainty pink circles from which bloomed each a splendid spire, hard little points that seemed to call to Bert, drawing his gaze ever more intently.
And as he drank in the theretofore undreamed-of sight of his bride’s beautiful, breathtaking bosom, Princess Penelope, wondering at his long silence, at last mustered the courage to look up at the Prince. Would he be pleased with her? At least a little bit? He had made that wonderful, sensitive, well-turned remark about her freckles. And so she began to raise her eyes, hoping to find if not admiration then at least satisfaction in the Prince’s face.
But the slow sweep of the Princess’s regard did not reach as high as Prince Bert’s face before she realized that her answer was at hand. “My lord! My lord! Look!” she cried, pointing.
Prince Bert, startled from his reverie on Penelope’s breasts, looked up, saw where she was pointing, and looked down.
The Prince’s staff, awakened from its rest, was slowly stretching, growing thicker and longer with every pulse — indeed, the beating of Bert’s heart could be told just by watching the amazing transformation.
Princess Penelope sank to her knees between the Prince’s legs, the better to watch the miracle closely; and whether it was an atavistic response to her suppliant posture, or the sight of the fascinating tremor that the sudden motion induced in her lovely breasts, or the feeling as her luxurious tresses briefly swept across his cock, or simply pleasure at the excitement betrayed by her glittering eyes, Bert’s reaction was swift. His cock filled all the more rapidly and began to rise apace, until in mere seconds it stood fierce and proud from his loins, as rigid as ice and as hot as a firebrand.
Penelope’s excitement had risen as surely as Prince Bert’s staff, for she knew that the time was at hand to be wife to her Prince in act, and not merely in name. She reached for her husband’s cock with a hand slowed by timidity, but impelled the more by eagerness, and looked up at the Prince’s face just as her fingers found their hold.
Prince Bert’s eyes were so wide, and his mouth so agape, that the Princess wondered for a moment if she had caused him injury, though the Duchess had certainly handled the Duke even more firmly. But the Prince allayed her fear, gasping “Oh! My lady! Thy touch is, is, is so very pleasant — I know not the name for this feeling, but, but, it is truly a marvel!” At this encouragement, the Princess smiled sweetly, and made so bold as to stroke her hand gently up and down the Prince’s staff, in wonderment that a thing so hard could be as well so soft, that a thing so inconsequential could become emblematic of such power, and that what once she could have covered with one hand, she could not now fully encircle.
“My lord,” quoth the Princess, “Thou hast a beautiful cock, a wonder to behold. It is twice the instrument my cousin bears. Look, my lord! I cannot gird it but that I use both hands, and it is so hard and insistent of purpose that I can scarce deflect it. Oh, my lord, I knew thee to be a kind, good man, but I did not dream that thou wouldst be beautiful as well!”
The Prince would have been pleased enough at Penelope’s words alone, had not the pleasure coursing from his rod obscured all others. “My lady, th’art sweet rapture itself, the way thou stroke my prick,” said he. “So this, then, is how we couple, and make babies? I can only wonder that the world is not overrun with them.”
Princess Penelope slowed her caresses, and took pause to master her last nervousness, for now she would reveal the last of her secret knowledge and, as duty bound her, take the awesome scepter within her. She prayed, knowing that she was but an inexperienced girl, that Prince Bert would not find her wanting in skill or in spirit.
“No, my lord, there is yet more,” said the Princess, her pretty face tilted up to her husband. “I will show thee anon all that I learned from the Duchess. For thy part, thou must command me as thou will, saying in turns that thou wouldst like one pleasure or another.” Here she gave the Prince the sweetest smile he had yet seen on her face or any other. “And I shall strive to give them to thee. Now, my lord, let us begin.”
And then did Princess Penelope, at duty’s behest but with a loving heart and fully willing, part her pretty pink lips, let slip her dainty tongue, bend her head, and take the first measure of her husband’s cock within her virgin mouth.
Oh, to be the Prince! To feel the soft caress of lips and tongue, to revel in the cool moisture on heated flesh, to glory in the wondrous variety of sensations! To know, for the first time, that there are such sensations in this world, and that they are not reserved for Paradise!
And to be the Princess! Triumphant in the mastery of her apprehension, delighting that skills oft rehearsed in fantasy were proving real, thrilled to be the source of such pleasure! For there was no doubt on that score: her eyes met the Prince’s and saw clearly in them the very greatest measure of delight.
“My lady!” gasped Prince Bert. “Thou didst instruct — ahh! — me to command other — ooooh! — pleasures of thee; yet my poor brain had never imagined — aahhh! — such pleasure as this, and I know not whaaaahhhhhhh! Oh!”
Penelope slipped Prince Bert’s cock from her lips, and though she suckled it not her hands upon him were not still. “Why, my lord,” the lovely girl replied, “My cousin the Duke spake diverse commands, saying ‘lick it’ or ‘suck it’ or ‘now my balls,’ or ‘faster,’ and with each the Duchess followed suit.” Now the Princess, holding the tip of the Prince’s cock, descended to wash its very base with broad strokes of her tongue, and then, ascending with not the least haste, licked every bit until Bert’s moans of pleasure announced her arrival back at its head. “Like that, my lord. Didst thou find that also to thy liking?”
“Liking is no word for this, my lady,” replied the Prince. “I am in Paradise with no memory of my death, it would seem.” At this Penelope’s heart leapt within her, for her husband could have said no more loving words. “But I am content not to command thee but to give thee free rein, to practice such arts as thou knowest. Is there nothing else I must do?”
Princess Penelope pondered this, sucking Prince Bert’s cock once more into her dainty mouth, until she was confident of her memory. “There was, my lord, one more thing the Duke said,” replied Penelope, pausing once more to sweep her outthrust tongue in gentle circles on Bert’s cock-tip. “He cried ‘Oh, oh, oh,’ and then ‘Take it all, bitch,’ though upon my oath there was no dog in their chamber. And then for a moment the Duchess looked strange in countenance.” The Princess sucked a little more, and then lifted her head to conclude, “And shortly after, my lord, the Duke’s prick grew small, and all was at an end. I confess, my lord, I do not understand completely.”
“Nor do I, my lady,” said the Prince, “But let us continue, and perhaps come to understanding by practice.” This more than well suited the Princess, who with a smile made another laving tour of Prince Bert’s cock, before plunging it once more within her warm and juicy mouth, sensing as she did so that some slight change had come about of taste or scent. With familiarity Princess Penelope found that she could suck a little more than she had at first, which effort was clearly exciting to her new husband, who responded not only with moans and sighs, but with gentle caresses on her head, thrilling the beautiful girl by their tender nature.
Many minutes slipped past, as she happily worked with lips, tongue, and fingers, trying all she could remember and making new ventures of her own, gauging by the Prince’s response whether each action pleased him much or merely; and in the intimacy of their coupling, and the delight of pleasing her husband with womanly art, the Princess too could be said to have fallen in love. Then, as she concluded a gentle tonguing of the Prince’s fascinating stones and began anew vigorously to suck his prick, drawing him as deep within her mouth as she was able, she heard the Prince speak, and speak such words as made her eyes fill with joyful tears.
“Penelope, may I — may I touch thy breast?”
Not “My lady.” Not even “My dear,” as her father the King sometimes addressed her mother, and which she had once thought the very summit of familiarity between man and woman. “Penelope!” So intimate a thing, to use her name, as if a hundred years of happy marriage had already passed, in the space of half their wedding night. She blinked, and one teardrop fell, which unthinking she wiped away with her husband’s mighty prick.
“Yes, my l—.” Then, very softly, “Yes, Bert. My body is thine, for whatever worth thou give it, and thou needst no license from me.” Princess Penelope returned to her sucking, noting anew that there was now a flavor to the Prince’s prick, and a certain thickening of her spittle where it from time to time escaped her mouth. She kept her eyes open, watching her husband summon the courage to do as he wished.
Bert reached out, and Penelope dropped her hands to her sides, allowing him unhindered access to her body, as she continued to kneel before him, head bobbing on his upright staff. And then his hand was cupping her breast, and then a hand on each, stroking, measuring their weight and firmness, exploring with infinite tenderness the outthrust nipples.
O listener, cast your mind back once more, and remember what a singular delight it is to feel the just-budded breast of a youthful maid! There is no other flesh like it, not in curve, or warmth, or yielding pressure, nor in marvelous suitability to the shape of a cupped hand. And so it was that Bert, already besotted with pleasure, could not but succumb to this one added joy.
Of a sudden, Princess Penelope felt her Prince stiffen in every sinew, his legs rigid, his fingers pressing more firmly into her lovely breasts, his breath bated. She could not see his face as he bent over her and she over his cock, but well could she imagine the same tension figured there. “Oh! oh! oh!” cried Prince Bert.
And then the cock within Princess Penelope’s mouth erupted, sending forth a torrent of fluid, filling her mouth with the same flavor she had sensed, but now magnified a thousandfold. In her shock and confusion, Penelope could retain but a single thought: that if her duty as Princess and Woman and Wife had been to suck her Prince’s cock, then that duty had not been changed by this startling development; and so despite her perplexity the pretty Princess continued the loving stroke of lips and tongue, even as her mouth filled.
The oral deluge resolved itself into bursts that Princess Penelope could feel severaly, and then stopped as abruptly as it had begun. The Prince regained a small measure of his composure, unhanding Penelope and sitting up straight, so that once again she could direct her gaze at his visage. At once she saw that the Prince was in every way as surprised and asea as she herself.
There was a pressing question now at hand, and the Princess knew both that she had no way to ask it, mouth overflowing, and that the Prince was unlikely to have the answer. So, forced to act, she reasoned that her Prince would not do anything to harm her, nor let her come to harm, and so that the mysterious elixir was not poison, and so that she could drink it. Then with an expression that her cousin the Duchess would have recognized immediately, she swallowed down the warm, viscous fluids, and lifted her mouth off of Prince Bert’s prick.
As they spoke of the marvelous explosion, and how startling it had been to both, and how for Prince Bert it had marked an excess of pleasure aginst which all other delights paled, Princess Penelope noted with triumph that the Prince’s mighty staff was beginning to soften and return to its usual size, and recognizing this as the true mark of conclusion, made a satisfied announcement to her dear husband.
“There. That is how we make a baby.”
The Prince wiped a rivulet of cream off of Penelope’s chin, and watched as she solemnly sucked his finger into her mouth, daintily lapping up the last traces before releasing the digit and giving him a warm grin. The two young people clambered under the covers, where they renewed their kisses and embraces, until some time later the Princess noted an undeniable stirring at the Prince’s loins; whereupon she gleefully knelt before him once more to repeat the wonderful process in its entirety; and now armed with some foreknowledge, Penelope was able to swallow as the Prince’s cock pulsed in her mouth, so that she lost not a drop.
The servants who found them next morning were nonplussed to find the couple’s bedclothes discarded on the floor, but the rumor of that unusual intimacy between the newlyweds quickly reached the Queen’s ear, to her great satisfaction. As it had been with too many teachers and not a one to coordinate all, so it was as the bed was made up, each servant full willing to believe that another had already replaced the blood-stained linens, and none to realize that the Princess remained a virgin.
Now when the marriage of Penelope and Bert was some six months old, and Penelope’s waist was as trim and dainty as ever, the Queen sent her lady-in-waiting, Winifred, to find discreetly if this was by misfortune, or if some problem lay between the Princess and the Prince.
Winifred sought out Penelope, engaging her in conversation on a walk through the palace grounds, where they could not be overheard; and after much maneuvering brought up the subject with which she had been charged.
“And how, my lady, do you find the duties of a wife to suit you, now that you have had time to become accustomed to them?”
Penelope was momentarily perplexed. “Duties, my lady? Meanest thou attending at balls, or at court? Or dost thou mean womanly tasks — embroidery? Chastising servants?”
Winifred laughed. “Why, no, dear lady, in speaking of duty I meant only the duty of the marriage bed — of woman to man. How findest thou the intimate dance?”
A blush sprang to Penelope’s lovely face as she understood, which Winifred noted. “Well do I take thy meaning now, Lady Winifred. But I do not know what answer to give thee.”
“Well, for example, Prince Bert — his scepter is in fine form, I trust?”
Penelope’s blush deepened. “Indeed, Lady Winifred, it is a marvelous thing — so mighty a staff when the change comes across it, that though I try with all my heart I have not yet accomodated the full scope of it.”
At that news, Winifred’s eyes grew large. Prince Bert would be off limits, but there were other boys in his family, perhaps similarly favored, and one might be a suitable toy for the Queen’s Lady-in-Waiting.
“But still, my Princess, the measure of a scepter is not truly in its size, but in its use. May I trust that the Prince often brings forth his elixir as thy dance concludes?”
“Without fail, Lady Winifred. I must say, as friend to friend, that it quite startled me on our wedding night, for my expectations were not fully formed. But since, I have become quite accustomed to the effect.”
Winifred smiled, remembering her own surprise the first time she had felt the seed flow from a man. “And, my lady, art thou sure to retain the Prince’s effusions within thee, so that they may have their greatest effect?”
Penelope was a bit puzzled by this — one hardly had control over the fate of things one swallowed — but answered to the best of her ability. “Why, to be sure, Lady Winifred, there is so much that sometimes I cannot retain it all.” Penelope thought back to the previous evening, when a slight cough at just the most indelicate moment had sent the Prince’s creamy gift shooting out her nose. Best, perhaps, not to mention that one episode. “But for the most part, I find that I can keep all that the Prince gives to me.”
The ladies walked on in silence, as Winifred contemplated the image of the strapping Prince Bert, now known to be hung like a horse and provisioned like a dairy, making the two-backed beast with the dainty girl beside her. Penelope’s thoughts were also with her Prince, for speaking of the intimate act had made her positively hungry for the once strange, but now well beloved, taste of his magical cream.
“My Princess,” said Winifred, breaking the silence, “Wilt thou permit me to offer a word of advice to thee, as friend to thy mother and indeed to thee?”
“Of course, Lady Winifred. There must be no reserve between us, who have known each other so long.”
“Thou know’st that a Royal Heir would bring great delight to the King and Queen, and to the whole of the Kingdom. From thy frank and welcome answers to my questions, I am assured that thou and the Prince are taking that responsibility with great respect. But, perhaps, just to help matters, thou might try all the harder to — how didst thou say it? — accomodate the full measure of the Prince’s manly member. And, my dear, though it might be seen as a severe burden, perhaps thou might couple more often — twice, even thrice each day?”
Penelope blushed again at the frank talk, but civility demanded a reply. “Why, Lady Winifred, as to the latter recommendation, I would find it no burden at all, if my Prince be willing.” She leaned her head close to whisper, and became for an instant not a Princess of the Realm, but a simple teenage girl. “Don’t tell anyone, but I quite like it myself.”
Winifred let out a happy laugh. “Thou art a girl after my own heart, dear Princess Penelope. I often suspect that most of our sisters are hiding their eagerness behind a mask of disdain for duty.”
“As for... fitting... more of my husband within me,” continued the Princess, “I will promise to do my best. But I must say that when last I strove to do so I nearly —”
The word “choked” died unspoken, as the ladies rounded the end of a hedgerow and found themselves in company of a party of courtiers. But Winifred noticed not, and never considered how close she had come to learning the truth.
In the first days and weeks of their marriage, between Princess Penelope and Prince Bert there had grown a deep love, so well suited were they each for the other. Not only were they two young people of happy disposition and capacious heart, but they found numerous interests in common; yet none of these so completely captivated the new-wed pair as their shared devotion to their one duty.
For as much as Prince Bert thrilled to the incomparable sensations of Princess Penelope’s delicate fingers, agile tongue, and sweet soft lips, as she plied them about his rigid prick with attention and skill that increased day by day, so did Penelope revel in the power she had to cause the magical transformation of limp hose into mighty stanchion, and in the art of sucking her husband’s cock to his great pleasure, and ultimately in the welcome rush of princely cream, now her dearest and most longed-for treat.
And so the Princess lost no time in passing Lady Winifred’s counsel on to her husband, although modifying the advice to suit their current practice. For while Lady Winifred had mentioned coupling two, or even three times daily, she could not have known that it was already Penelope’s custom to do that or more.
Therefore Penelope merely told her beloved that they should redouble their efforts, and the Prince was nothing loath to heed this advice. At first this was something of a trial, but bodies adapt to the demands that are put on them of whatever kind — young bodies all the quicker — and in short time the Prince was treating his beautiful bride to her favorite effusion some ten or more times a day. If Penelope ever thought about how much of her time she spent kneeling before her Prince with his cherished cock in her mouth, it was only with a twinge of selfish guilt, that she should have a life so full of such love.
Now I must tell you of two small things, for completeness’ sake, before we conclude our happy tale.
The first is that, by dint of patient effort and rehearsal, Princess Penelope did finally learn to accept, as Winifred had counseled, the full measure of her husband’s mighty staff, so that from time to time Prince Bert enjoyed the sight of his cherished true love sucking deeper and deeper and deeper on his rampant prick, until it had fair disappeared, only to emerge again, dripping, from Penelope’s triumphant grin. This bears mention only to show that there never was any way in which the Prince and Princess shirked their duty, so far as they understood it.
The second is that Prince Bert, taking full advantage of the license his beloved had given him, spent many happy hours letting his hands wander over the beautiful landscape of her naked body, well acquainting himself with her every curve, and finding that second only to his favorite pink-tipped hillocks was the plump, springy rise of her shapely bottom. Now it happened one day that the Prince in his curiosity chose to explore his bride’s most intimate place, and asking Penelope to point out its salient features, learned that the tiny little hole was to let out her water, while the hole the size of his little finger was to purge bad blood; and never did Bert or Penelope imagine for an instant that the latter was nature-made to be riven by a forceful thrust from the Prince’s majestic scepter. But though this opportunity slipped past, Bert did chance to find another spot of interest, which when he caressed it with a gentle finger set the Princess to gasping with delight. And from that time onward, Penelope would on occasion so comport herself as she sucked Bert’s cock that he could reach the tiny button, and thus return to her some portion of the pleasure he received; although it must be said that the pretty Princess always favored being on her knees before her husband, so as to give him her attention undistracted.
In time the Queen and her advisors agreed that the hoped-for heir would not be forthcoming, whether by barren womb or impotent seed mattering not. All assured the Queen that it was not a lack of dilligence on the young couple’s part, for the amount of time they spent locked away in their chambers was the stuff of daily gossip at court.
The Kingdom was old, and such misfortune not unknown, and so well-tried wheels were set in motion: discrete ministers scouted the land for an unwed peasant girl who had found to her dismay the price of an afternoon in the hayloft. Girls and haylofts — and peasant boys — being what they are, the ministers could count on finding some few candidates, from which they could select the family most certain to hold their tongues and lend their daughter in exchange for a purse of gold.
This plan was carried out, and the politics of the matter carefully explained to Princess Penelope and Prince Bert, who, though abashed at what they felt was their own failure, nevertheless saw clearly which way their duty lay.
The months passed, the baby was born; it was placed with Penelope and Bert as if it were their own, and announcements were made throughout the realm that the Princess had had a son. The people of Pfizistan rejoiced in the news, and lifted cups in their local alehouses to toast the painting of Princess Penelope that hung in every one — for the common folk not only loved their royal family, but the beauteous Penelope most of all. And if a peasant or merchant or craftsman thought at all about the issue of succession, it was perhaps only to say “Well, good, that’s settled then,” and to call for a fresh tankard or another song.
Prince Bert and Princess Penelope raised the child in love, never once treating the lad as anything but their own. But although the need to make a baby had been superseded, the royal couple continued in the habits they had established; for you are to consider that if habits are hard to break, then extremely pleasurable habits are even more so, and extremely pleasurable habits repeated a dozen times a day are quite impossible.
After many and many a year, the old King died, and Bert became King with Penelope as his Queen. In their time, too, they passed the throne on to their son, and so the succession continued as it was always meant to be.
The reign of Bert and Penelope was a prosperous one, remembered and spoken of fondly for generations to come. “King Bert the Blissful” was how he was known and remembered, for it was said that he was the happiest man who ever lived. When enemies threatened the Kingdom, Bert’s unfailing good cheer and happiness proved more potent than a hundred armies, for no man could prevent his own best nature from emerging when faced with the King’s bonhommie. In the extended years of peace thus won, Pfizistan flourished.
Those who remembered Bert as a lad always said that his state of perpetual bliss started on the day he wed — and some wondered why the same fate had not attended their own marriages.
And Penelope? In the hearts and memories of her people, she was “Queen Penelope the Pretty,” for she kept her youthful beauty in face and figure her whole life long. Visitors to the court when she was a woman of eighty would swear by all they held holy that, but for her long silver tresses, she appeared no more aged than a girl of sixteen, her skin fresh and unlined, her green eyes sparkling merrily, and her girlish figure as alluring as ever. The clerics of the land grumbled that only magical potions — vile heresy! — could account for perpetual beauty, but even when their spies searched the Queen’s chamber, no such elixir was ever found. And they dared not preach against her, for her people loved her more each day.
King Bert among them.
Author’s notes on Royal Succession
This one took a long time to write. I had the introduction and the conclusion pretty quickly, but when it came to the actual wedding-night scene I always felt like I was intruding on Penelope and Bert. Then one day I took a fresh swing at it and everything came out fine.
I like these two as much as any of my characters. They seem like such nice people. I don’t even begrudge Bert his ten blowjobs a day, when I have to settle for... fewer :-)
You probably noticed that the title of this tale is a bit of a pun. Sorry. Please don’t hate me.
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