It did not take long for the prince to figure out which root the princess had envisioned for her fantasy. It stood out among the others, rounded and fairly smooth, and as the prince deftly tied her to it he wondered absently that he had never thought of it himself. And as it happened, the princess had indeed assessed the area correctly; the dimensions were a perfect fit for her body and she settled comfortably into her new position, with her hands secured tightly to a root located in front of her and her legs tied far apart, knees resting perfectly on the ground in between. Her stomach straddled the largest root, with her breasts falling loosely just above where it curved around. She was short of breath from excitement, finding it hard to breathe in and out. She was excited to the point of fainting.
The prince was suffering, too, but he was determined that he play his part correctly in his wife’s fantasy. He chose a branch covered in leaves that were slightly prickly all around the edges, and he moved it ever so slowly over the area between his wife’s open legs. She moaned loudly as he did this, straining her hips against the tantalizing leaves in an attempt to get more of them. The feathery light touches were as exciting as she imagined, but they were equally distressing. It was only enough to tease and not nearly enough to please. As the strokes came firmer and faster, she moved her hips in time with them, at moments trying to get as much pleasure as she could and other times trying to avoid the harsher strokes that stung her flesh. She delighted in her husband’s patient torment of her, and wondered if he enjoyed watching her wriggle and move as much as her story captor had.
The prince was enjoying watching his wife immensely, and he played with and pleasured her for as long as he could, until at last he could take no more. Her bouncing hips were driving him wild. He threw down the branch and approached her. Her flesh was swollen and pink. She was moaning quietly. He reached between her legs and stroked her with his hand. She was open and wet. He worked his way into her right then and there, taking her while she was still tied to the tree. He had not allowed her to finish her story before interrupting her, so he was not entirely sure how she would have ended it. However, he had a few ideas of his own that he thought were not half-bad.
He recalled that she had chosen this particular root because it left the story princess open “at both ends.” Perceiving her reason for this, he planned to make use of the other end in due time, but for now, he reveled in the feel of her lower body engulfing him in its silky softness. He took her with long, easy strokes, pausing now and then to control his passions so that she would have ample time to take pleasure in their activities. He was astute enough to grasp from her stories her longing to enjoy more from their intimacy than merely reaching a climax. She wanted to experience everything that the act could offer, and he, for his part, was fully willing to oblige her. Perhaps in the process he, too, would learn to get more out of it.
With this in mind he teased, tantalized and titillated them both for as long as he was able. Light was quickly leaving the forest and he still had more ground to cover. He eased himself out of her. She moaned in resistance. They still had neither spoken a single word.
The prince came around to the front of his wife now, holding her head gently for a moment before filling her eager mouth. The barrel shape of the tree root now came to be most useful, for it made it quite easy for him to reach between her legs as she sucked him. He approached this, too, teasingly, leisurely massaging her back and pink buttocks with his hands before reaching between her legs and stroking her there. With the greatest care he searched for her most receptive spot and lovingly rubbed and caressed her until her hips began to move in time with his fingers. She sucked him enthusiastically as she moaned and ground her hips. He let her set the pace, watching her like he would an outstanding performance, enjoying the show as much as he was able whilst struggling to maintain self-control.
Princess Ora closed her eyes tight, but for once it was not in an effort to imagine something more exciting than what she was actually experiencing. She was overwhelmed by the many sensations taking over her mind, and did not know whether to focus on her husband’s fingers between her legs, or the harsh ropes around her wrists and ankles, or even his rock solid hardness penetrating her mouth. Her thoughts drifted from one very exciting sensation to the next, causing a sharp thrill to trickle over her anew with each tantalizing contemplation. Finally she struck upon the perfect combination of sensations that sent rivers of pleasure throughout her. While her whole body shuddered, she kept her eyes shut tight and her lips still sucked on her husband unconsciously.
Princess Ora’s reaction was duly noted by the prince, and his body responded immediately. He made to pull himself out of her mouth but she surprised him further by clinging to him with her lips. His roar of pleasure seemed to reverberate off the forest trees, going on and on, much like his release. He was delighted to discover that his repeated efforts to hold off had had the effect of making his orgasm last longer and come over him with much more intensity. He had nearly seen stars!
Princess Ora was in a daze. Her husband had fulfilled her darkest desires every bit as well as she could have done.
But the next morning Princess Ora was once again anxiety-ridden. What must her husband think of her, really, even in spite of the pleasure they both had shared? What should she say to him? As before, she dealt with these doubts and fears with anger. How had he known where to find her? It was quite disconcerting. And yet, now and again, little remembrances of the events of the night before sent shivers clear through her, and she found herself quite confused indeed, feeling one moment distressingly aroused and the next feeling violated and enraged.
Her husband, when she met him downstairs, once again acted the perfect gentleman and was quite cavalier, it seemed, about the evening previous. She tried to mirror his manner but failed. At length she said, “Dare you deny yet again that you were spying on me?”
“Indeed I know nothing about it,” he replied simply, daring her to say more.
She fumed inwardly but held her tongue. She did not have proof, yet how else could his behavior be explained? His actions were, verbatim, what she had written. Once again she wondered about the magic pen. Was the pen causing his behavior to mirror what she wrote on the pages of her notebook? She did not want to admit that she was the instigator of the fantasies if they were, in fact, caused by the magic pen. She tried to casually inquire about it, but it caused her much embarrassment to broach the subject.
“Last night you…how did you find me?” She blushed profusely at the mention of it. Really, she marveled at herself, after the things you did with him! She thought about the wanton way she had moved her hips over his prying hands.
“For last night I can do no more than beg your pardon,” he said evasively. “I’m sure I don’t know what came over me—stumbling upon you in the woods like that made me lose control!” And so, once again he effectively thwarted her efforts to solve the riddle.
That evening the princess left their house before her husband arrived home from work. Determined to see if the magic pen really gave her power to control his behavior, she slipped out early and went even farther into the woods this time, to a place she was certain he could not “stumble” upon her. Furthermore, she would write a story that even he could not act out! It would have to be bizarre and outrageous. She thought about the possibilities as she traveled farther and farther into the woods.
As Princess Ora contemplated these matters she wandered from the path she had intended and at length she was in a much denser forest, with a more primitive terrain. So deep in thought was she that she did not even notice this change until she stumbled into a large puddle of mud. She struggled a moment to regain her composure before losing her footing completely and falling facedown in the mud.
The princess let out a little scream of indignation. Suddenly she noticed the area around her and realized with horror that she had no idea where she was. Furthermore, she was covered in thick muck from head to foot. She tried to brush it off of her
but it stubbornly clung to her in small clumps all over. Well, she thought, I wonder what my husband would think if he saw me like this! But her next thought was one of exclamation: that was it! Suddenly her fingers itched for the pen and she searched all around and in the puddle until she found it and the notebook, which she promptly opened and set out before her, right there on the forest floor. She was dirty already and so she kneeled over the notebook and gave in to her overwhelming urge to write.
Now we shall see, she thought, as she began to pen the outrageous tale. Her story princess would also be lost in the woods, and she, too, would have fallen in the mud. But in her story, the puddle was cursed by a woodland fairy and the earth within it would have the power to transform whoever touched it. Princess Ora absently tugged at the muddied collar around her neck as she contemplated how this puddle might transform her characters.
The prince, meanwhile, who had been riding home on his horse stopped abruptly. “What the…damn!” He swore. She was at it again! She had apparently left their castle before he could set a trap that would make it easier for him to find her. Instinctively his body began to tighten up in anticipation, even as his mind wondered in apprehension where she had slipped away to this time.
He quickly perceived that his wife had once again wandered off into the woods. Perhaps she, like her story princess, was lost. As he read the words that appeared in his mind, he could scarcely believe what he was seeing. Where was she coming up with all of this? He wanted to throttle her, right there in the mud…in the mud where the story princess was tearing her clothes off because she was changing. My god, he thought, aroused but also alarmed. Was it possible that his wife was really in some kind of trouble? He thought about the landscape in her story as he continued to read. Surely she had not wandered off so far that she could have reached the mudlands?
The story princess was now fully unclothed and rolling around in the mud, massaging the thick, black clumps into her skin. The prince pictured the black mud all over his wife’s delicate skin and groaned.
Princess Ora tugged once again at her dress as she wrote. The mud caused her skin to itch where it was drying, and it scraped her skin where it had already dried on her clothes. She sat up a moment, thinking. Way out here, she thought, who would know if I were to remove my dress so that I could shake the mud off it once it dries? The dress was becoming too uncomfortable to remain on her body at any rate. She removed it hastily and hung it on a nearby branch so that she could resume her writing. It was time to bring her prince into the story.
The real prince was unsure what to do next. Should he go to the mudlands to see if Princess Ora was there? He felt it was extremely unlikely that she had gone that far. The story prince was faring better than he, however, for he was just coming upon his princess as she rolled in the mud, grunting happily as she covered herself in the sloppy rich soil. The story prince realized immediately that his princess had fallen under the spell of the woodland fairy and perceived that she was changing. Such was his love for her that he tore off his own clothes and joined her in the mud, resolving to change right along with her.
It appeared to the real prince as he read all this that the prince and princess in the story were changing into some kind of wild animal, perhaps swine. It was outrageous, but he could not get the images of the two characters, which he had by this time come to think of as Princess Ora and himself, out of his mind. The thought of his wife’s body covered in slick mud appealed to him. The thought of himself rolling around in the mud with her was enticing. Some of what she wrote appalled him as much as it thrilled him. As the characters continued to change, their behavior became more animalistic. The story prince grunted as he sniffed between the legs of his transformed princess. She allowed him to sniff her but she bit him when he tried to mount her. Undaunted, they continued their mud play, until at last he got the better of her, triumphantly pressing her face into the mud as he mounted her successfully this time.
The real prince could not believe what he was reading. He rushed blindly through the woods toward the mudlands now, but was still a far distance off. He was tired and sweaty from the work he had done that day, but even so it was as if he had fire running through his veins. Each step he took toward the mudlands seemed to mingle with every word he read, and the fusion of the two was like gasoline on a fire. He was panting as he traversed the woods, looking this way and that, searching for his wife with only his instinct for a guide. He couldn’t get the image of her mud-covered body out of his head. He knew he would be mounting her in the mud, just like the characters in her story, once he found her.
The princess, too, had been affected by her own story. She suddenly ached to feel the mud all over her skin. She had given up, by now, on the idea that the pen was affecting her husband’s behavior, or that he was going to appear suddenly in these isolated woods. He had simply been looking over her shoulder on the two evenings previous. Being truly alone in these woods, she could easily slip off the rest of her clothes and have a healthful mud soak. On her way home she would bathe in the river. It was still quite warm and little rays of sunshine managed to slip through the branches of the dense forest trees. A few minutes later she was fully nude and wading in the puddle of mud. She sat down in the center of the puddle, and began to spread the slop over her torso and breasts with her hands. It felt cool and tingly and forbidden. It aroused her to feel it seeping its way into the pores of her flesh.
Princess Ora’s husband was alarmed. The words had stopped coming. Had something happened to his wife? Random images lingered in his mind, turning his anxiety into fancy. Had she realized he could see what she wrote? Had she written the bizarre story to alert him to something that had happened? He tried to remain calm and rational as he tore through the woods in search of her.
A languid feeling of arousal permeated the princess. She loved the way the mud made her body look and feel. She could not take her eyes off her breasts as she rolled around shamelessly in the black mud. It seemed that the mud brought a tingling sensation to every pore. She fancied she could even feel it in the hairs upon her head. She knew it was wicked but she could not help but touch herself between her legs. She rubbed herself tenuously with her fingers, slowly giving in to the enticing feel of the mud. With no one to hear her in her isolation, she moaned loudly while she titillated herself.
The prince was becoming frantic. Too many minutes had passed and still no word had appeared in his mind. He tore through the woods in haste, panting like an animal. Suddenly he paused. He could hear a strange moaning sound that did not sound quite human, but nor could he identify it as that of an animal. He followed the sound toward the mudlands, convinced it would lead him to his wife, but not daring to guess that it was his wife.
He stopped short when he spotted her. She was lying on her back in a puddle of black mud; her legs bent and spread apart, her hair caked in the mud while she pleasured herself. The loud moans were hers. Her hips rose up and down as her fingers worked at her arousal. At the sight of her the prince felt a mixture of outrage and passion. His passion quickly overpowered everything else, and he swiftly and silently stripped down and approached her as lithely as cat.
When Princess Ora caught sight of him she froze. Every part of her was covered in the black muck except her face. She shrieked at him in outrage and embarrassment. She was so angry all of a sudden that she actually shook. How dared he? She took a handful of the mud and hurled it directly into his face. It hit him on the cheek and nose with a loud thud. She noticed with a small amount of satisfaction that he, too, was quite aroused. At least he had not been turned off by catching her at what she was so obviously doing. That would have been unpardonable.
Her attack seemed to have no effect on him. He continued his approach and bent down to grasp one thoroughly mud-coated breast. From the moment he first glimpsed it he knew he would touch it. She struggled to get away from him, tossing mud at him wholeheartedly now. He did not seem to mind this, either, but kept stroking her slickly coated
body, completely unmoved by her struggles. She rolled onto her knees and tried to get up. The mud made her limbs heavy and awkward. The prince held her down easily, even slipping one hand over, around and between her buttocks leisurely as he did so. She kept flinging mud at him and struggling to stand up, but he easily held her down.
The prince knew his wife was embarrassed by the way he had found her and this was the source of her struggles. He also remembered that her story princess had struggled against her lover, too. She had written the script and he intended to play his part to the letter. He would do so with relish, in fact.
Without difficulty the prince grasped his wife’s slick hips and dropped to his knees in the mud before her. She squirmed and tried to wriggle away, but she still uttered no words; only grunts and gasps and moans escaped her lips. She seemed to be struggling inwardly more than out. But the prince was merely playing with her through these struggles, and enjoying the sport. He would mount her when he was ready, just as the prince in the story had done to his princess, although they had been under a spell. But he, too, felt that he was under a spell, and he luxuriated in every single detail of their interplay, from the mud clinging to his wife’s curves as she fought him, to the animal sounds that escaped her lips. He somehow managed to stroke himself while he held her.
At last he jerked her hips closer, forcing her legs wider apart with his knee. She struggled harder but he still managed her easily. He jerked her hips up roughly, causing her to lose her balance and fall face-first in the mud. She gasped in outrage even as he slid into her slick, waiting body.
They both fought to keep their balance as the prince ravished the princess right there in the mud puddle and for all appearances they might really have been two animals mating. The princess was subdued for the moment and thrust her muddied hips greedily up to meet her husband’s. She could not seem to control the frenzied passion that had taken hold of her. She thrashed and moaned in full abandon, wanting nothing but a release from the pent-up desire she felt. When at last that release came to her she screamed out her pleasure, reveling in her absolute loss of restraint. She had truly let go of every last vestige of her self-control. Furthermore, she had exposed her most concealed and frightening secrets to her husband.
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