Freawine’s cock rallied and he reached down to pleasure himself as the prince began to thrust faster and faster. Frea met each of his thrusts with a lust-filled groan and came once more as the prince shouted his pleasure and collapsed on his sweat-coated back.
Breathing heavily, they rolled over, smiling shyly at each other.
“My queen,” the prince said at last, kissing Freawine gently and ruffling his hair. “What shall I call you? Not Frea, surely.”
“Freawine,” he answered, kissing the prince’s fingertips with a grin. “And what do I call you, my prince? Surely ‘Your Highness’ is too formal. Eadwine?”
His prince winced. “That was my father’s name. More of a title, really. He hoped for a dynasty.”
“What do your intimates call you?” Freawine asked, marveling again at the beauty of those eyes as he kissed the warm cheek, tracing the scars with his tongue.
“Ælfwine,” he said with a chuckle. Ælf. My mother calls me Ælfwine. My friends call my Ælf.”
“Ælf, I like that, Your Highness.”
“I’m sorry I had to put you through such an ordeal,” the prince said, his face serious. “It was a foolish thing to do.”
“I can’t really spin straw into gold,” Freawine confessed.
“I know,” the prince answered, a strange smile on his face.
Freawine stared at him. “How do you know?”
The air shimmered. The prince disappeared, and in his place lay the crooked little man who’d spun the straw to gold. The misshapen dwarf cackled. As Freawine watched, amazed, the air shimmered again and the prince reappeared.
“You’re not the only one whose mother put a charm on him at birth,” Aelf said.
Freawine just shook his head. “What else can you do?”
The prince laughed. “Let’s take off the rest of your clothes and I’ll show you.”
Freawine grinned and sank into another hot kiss. He couldn’t wait to see his prince come again.
The End
Frog Prince
“Love Me Like a Reptile” blared from the jukebox in the corner for the third time in a row as Madeley pulled another pint. Love you, Lemmy, she thought, keeping an eye on the foaming ale, but if I hear you sing that one more time, I’m going to kick your teeth in. She passed the pint over to the Motörhead fan who whooped his delight, giving her a grin with a few key teeth missing, as well as a fiver, and immediately charging off to rejoin his friends clustered around the record machine. Madeley smiled in surprise and pocketed the tip. Must be my lucky day.
“Gentlemen, please! I have already rung the bell, you see,” Mr. Dudek cajoled the last group. “Please, drink up.”
Madeley had felt a rush of gratitude when the landlord rang the bell but now, that people were beginning to leave the pub, her spirits sank again. She would have to go home to the all-too-quiet flat.
Noel was already piling chairs on top of tables with practiced movements, eager to hit the clubs with his jittery, skinny girlfriend. The pair of them together barely provided enough for one human. They were all legs and elbows.
But they were together.
“Now, now, don’t be like that,” she could almost hear Opal’s voice in her head saying.
Earlier that afternoon, the very real voice of her best friend shouted from Madeley’s mobile. “Marshall was a pathetic wanker and you’re well rid of him. Good riddance to bad rubbish!”
She’d spoken the truth. He never flossed. He wore the same shirt for days on end. He left the milk on the table. The job he’d managed finally to get a month prior didn’t even last three weeks. And when he got fired, like clockwork, those words came out of his mouth as he flung himself down on the settee.
“It’s not my fault!”
He’d patted his pockets trying to find the inevitable half-crushed pack of ciggies. “The boss had it in for me. They didn’t want any of the new blokes. It was a rotten shift.” But when she saw how the thick rim of mud on his Docs left a brown streak across the upholstery, something inside Madeley snapped. Marshall’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as she screamed at him, six months of buried rage pouring out in a torrent of abuse. No more. Marshall was grudgingly out the door by the weekend, his loser friends muttering under their breath at her while they hefted his pathetic belongings out to the van.
“I only liked you ’cause you work in a pub.” His final parting shot hit its mark, though Madeley struggled not to show it as he grinned at her, the eternal cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. He clattered down the stairs and she gave his back the two-finger salute, but it didn’t really assuage her anger or her resentment.
Why do I always get the frogs? Madeley wondered for the umpteenth time as she wiped down the bar. They come on as such charmers, but once they move in—ah, well, it was the same old story. For the first few days after he left, the extra expanse of mattress was luxury enough, but the lack of sex was taking its toll. While she’d gotten rather creative with her sex toys of late, she had to admit there was no substitute for the real thing. Marshall had lasted in her flat as long as he did only because he lasted so long in bed each night, bringing her to several exquisite peaks before coming himself. Of course, the way he always screamed, “Rock and roll!” when he came got up her nose, but compromise was part of life, or so her mum always advised. Good sex outweighed an annoying tick or two.
She sighed. It had been really good sex.
“Madeley, can you take the rubbish out to the tip?”
Mr. Dudek poked his head out from the kitchen, his bland face looking concerned. Madeley grinned. She was the only one who knew his secret—her boss was afraid of the dark. This strapping guy with the barrel chest, whose very presence could discourage the most belligerent drunk, trembled at the thought of facing the dark passage behind the pub.
“Yeah, all right.”
Madeley heaved the two bags into the skip and stretched her tired arms over her head, looking up at the sky. Not even a star to wish upon. Damn light pollution. She turned to head back into the pub when something caught her eye. Bending, Madeley squinted to see what had caught the thin beam of the security light.
It was a frog.
The pub lay so close to the river that it wasn’t a bit unusual to see all kinds of skittery creatures hanging around the bins. A salamander appeared in the gents one night even, but Noel swore someone had smuggled it in. Was there a large international ring of salamander smugglers, she’d asked him.
This creature, however, was no ordinary frog. For one thing, it was enormous. Madeley couldn’t be certain, but she would easily guess it to be more than twenty centimeters long. Gold streaks along its back glistened in the weak light, but the rest of its skin was a kind of olive green like fatigues. Most startlingly, its yellow-gold eyes appeared to be following her every movement.
Don’t be daft; it’s just scared. Madeley put her fists on her hips and took a step forward. “Shoo,” she said, her voice too loud in the darkness. The frog picked up its forefeet and adjusted its position slightly to follow her movements. She could almost hear the wet sound of those little green feet on the tarmac. A shudder of revulsion passed through her. Disgusting creature!
“Love me like a reptile,” Madeley said the words out loud to assuage her sudden discomfort. “Don’t make me laugh.”
“Frogs aren’t reptiles, you know.”
Madeley’s heart jumped into her mouth. She jerked her head right then left, but there was no one to be seen. Her eyes narrowed as she leaned toward the creature. “Who’s doing this?”
“I am,” the frog said, its mouth snapping with finality on the second word.
“Pull the other one,” Madeley said with a snort. “Noel?” It would suit his sick sense of humor, but as she cocked her head to listen, there was only the rush of the river, out of sight, the gabble of passing crowds, and the cars whizzing by on the Embankment.
“Seriously,” the frog continued, its voice as reasonable as if the two of
them had been chatting about the weather. “Frogs are amphibians, not reptiles.”
“Well, I guess you have your category for Mastermind.” Madeley shook her head, but it didn’t get any clearer. And the frog was there still, blinking its giant golden eyes at her.
“Will it help to tell you I’m enchanted?”
“Oh yeah. That helps a lot. Next you’ll be wanting a peck on the cheek, I suppose?” Madeley grimaced. The frog had more warts than Lemmy.
“Well, I don’t think it’s going to be that simple,” the frog continued, unperturbed. “But I would love to be someplace warm. Why don’t you take me home with you?”
Madeley stared. “What?”
“Take me home.”
“You must be daft!”
“No, just enchanted. Will you? It’s cold out here.”
Madeley closed her mouth, which she realized had been hanging open. I must be more tired than I thought. She blinked, but there was no doubt about it. It was a real frog. And it was talking to her.
But there was no way she was going to take it home. “I’m sure you’re a very, um, nice frog. But I can’t have pets in my flat.” Whew, there’s an easy out! Madeley shrugged apologetically. Why do I care what a frog thinks of me?
“Look into my eyes,” the frog said, taking a small hop forward.
Madeley gawped at him, but before she knew it, her gaze locked onto his golden orbs. All at once, she was in his arms. Their hot breaths mingled as they panted, sweat slicking their skin, his chest crushing hers as he glued his mouth to hers, thrusting his tongue deep as he ground against her . . . and she could feel the first bloom of the orgasm coming up from her knees—
And then Madeley was back in the cold night alleyway, gasping, her body on fire with lust. “What—?”
“That could be us,” the frog said, his tone flat though his words implored her. “Take me home, make me warm.”
Still, Madeley had her doubts about talking frogs, but she had no doubts about the way her flesh had responded to that little episode. Oh, baby! He had looked nothing like a frog and the way he felt inside her . . . ! “What’s your name?” She blurted the words out, her voice ragged yet with desire.
“Ian.”
“Uh, Madeley. Nice to, um, meet you. I think,” she added, her brain still a bit addled, trying to shout, You’re talking to a frog!
“Can you take me home now? I’m not good with the cold. I really need to be warm.” The golden eyes stared up at her, a mute appeal.
Sexy or not, there was no way she was going to pick up that thing with her hands. Madeley looked into the darkness of the skip and saw nothing useful. But that made her think of the recycle bin and sure enough, right on top, a flattened liquor box. In a flash, Madeley had it reassembled and set it in front of the frog. “Hop in.”
He looked at her for a moment, then complied. Madeley watched his languorous movements with some confusion. How could this reptile—no, amphibian—also be the guy she saw in that vision?
As she walked back into the pub, Mr. Dudek clapped his hands. “There you are! I was beginning to think, ha—she has gone home.”
“No, I was just . . . .” She paused. “Have you ever heard of a talking frog?” Madeley held the box in front of her so he could peak through the opening.
“That’s a big frog,” Mr. Dudek said, peering into the darkness. “Can it sing and dance, too? You know, like the cartoon!” Taking in Madeley’s puzzled look, her boss began—to her amazement—to sing and wield an imaginary top hat. “Hello, my honey, hello, my baby, hello, my rag tied gull. . . .”
He collapsed into laughter while she stared at him. Had everyone gone insane tonight?
“Oh, you must have seen it,” he insisted, slapping his chest as it heaved. “Brilliant! Dancing frog, but only dances and sings when no one’s looking. Hello, frog! I know your secret!” He laughed all the way to the exit with her, continuing to chuckle even as he locked the door behind her. “Hello, my honey, hello, my baby!”
Madeley shook her head and walked toward the bus stop. She was lucky a 59 showed up within a few minutes and the box had remained silent for the whole ride. The quiet was disconcerting enough that she kept lifting the flap to make sure the frog still sat inside the darkness. Sure enough, she could glimpse his shape and caught the flash of his gold stripes or his yellow eyes in the streetlights.
Up the stairs and into her flat, then Madeley opened the box on the floor, moving gingerly away from the cardboard. Funny it didn’t smell swampy. The frog hopped out onto the rug and looked at her. She couldn’t resist asking, “Are you going to sing and dance?”
“No.”
Ah well, so much for cartoons.
“I’m hungry. Do you have anything to eat?”
“You could say ‘please’ once in a while,” Madeley said, a bit of irritation creeping into her voice. It had been a long night and the weirdness of having a frog guest had begun to make her wonder what the hell was going on in her head. “I promise it won’t make you disappear in a puff of smoke.” She had a momentary twinge of doubt, however. Stranger things had already happened.
“I’m sorry,” the frog said, its golden eyes blinking at her. “I’ve been stuck this way for a very long time. I think I’m becoming less human.”
Poor mite! Madeley stopped herself from saying it aloud, though. “Well, what do frogs eat? Bugs, right? I might have some dead ladybirds in the window.”
“Why don’t you just let them out?”
“Nah, don’t want to touch them. They bite.”
“They do not!” His tone suggested she had somehow given offence.
“Well, what do you eat?”
“I don’t suppose you have any worms?”
Madeley made a face. “No! How about some fish paste?
The frog tapped his tiny toes. Madeley guessed he was thinking. After a moment, he opened his wide mouth and said, “All right, but could you warm it up a little?”
Madeley sighed. “Anything for you, your highness.” But sarcasm, apparently, was wasted on frogs. What am I doing? She asked herself again, as the little plate turned in the microwave.
When the oven dinged, she took out the plate and turned around, only to find the frog right behind her. “Can I eat in here?”
“I suppose,” Madeley said, hoping her tone didn’t convey her repulsion at the little creature being in her kitchen. She might never dust the rest of the flat, but the kitchen was always immaculate.
“Could you lift me up to the table?”
Madeley blanched. “The table?”
“Well, I can’t sit on a chair, can I? Won’t be able to reach.”
“You want me to pick you up?” Eww! The thought of touching that slimy body made her wince.
“I could try jumping . . . .”
Madeley looked at her grandmother’s teapot in its place of pride and made a quick decision. “No, I’ll – I’ll lift you.” She bent, her fingers curved to reach under his belly, but she closed her eyes before they touched his skin.
It was cool and smooth, not slimy at all. Madeley could feel him breathing as her fingertips sank into his sides. Lifting him to table level, she watched his legs dangle limply and then recoil as they touched the surface. As she let go, another flash obscured her vision and she saw once more the flesh of the man—hot, sweaty, taut, erect—and gasped with surprise and arousal. “How did you do that?”
“Do what?” the frog muttered as he tongued up the warm fish paste.
“I . . . I have to go wash my hands.” Madeley walked back through the sitting room and grabbed her phone as she went to the toilet. It was just about midnight. There was only one choice.
She pressed the number 2 key and the speed dial kicked in. As the call connected, she could hear the pounding music of a club before Opal shouted, “What?”
“I’ve got a . . . .” Madeley paused for a second. “I’ve got a weird thing to show you.”
“What?”
She sighed. “
I need to talk to you.”
It took about half an hour, but Opal arrived, having minicabbed from whatever club she had been in, a torrent of commentary pouring out before Madeley had a chance to open the door. “Wanker! He wanted twenty pounds. For that distance? I said to him, I could have taken the bus! And he says, ‘Well, then why didn’t you?’ Because I’ve been on my bloody feet all night, at least I was whenever Phil wasn’t on them. Madness! Why do I go dancing with him? Useless! I’d rather go out with a—what the hell is that?”
The two women regarded the frog waiting placidly on the sitting room carpet, Madeley with a bit of a smile, Opal with an open mouth. Miraculous enough to have her silent for a moment. It couldn’t possibly last.
“It’s a fucking frog!” Opal said at last, grabbing her friend’s arm to shake it.
“I know what it is; I found it, after all.”
“But it’s a fucking frog—in your sitting room!”
“And it talks.” Madeley laughed and threw herself down into the comfy chair. Shaking her head, Opal sat down on the settee. “He says he’s enchanted,” Madeley said.
“That right?” Opal gaped at the amphibian, who regarded her with a calm look, his golden eyes unblinking.
“That’s right.”
“Well then,” Opal said, “Make him talk.”
Madeley leaned forward. “You’re not going to refuse to talk, are you?”
“No,” the frog said.
“Fuck me with a HobNob!” Opal shouted, while Madeley collapsed with helpless laughter. “You have a talking frog!”
“An enchanted, talking frog,” Madeley managed to say finally, gasping for breath.
“I don’t think this is amusing.” The frog’s eyes appeared expressionless. Surely, Madeley imagined the angry tone to his voice.
“Well, hell! Trust me, this is funny as hell,” Opal said, leaning forward with a grin. “Can I touch him?” She reached forward to poke his side with one finger.
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