Anything But Andersons

by Tysche Dwai

  ANYTHING but ANDERSON'S

  FAIRY TALES with an ADULT ATTITUDE

  A Phaze HeatSheet by

  TYSCHE DWAI

  Cincinnati, Ohio

  6470A Glenway Avenue, #109

  Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  eBook ISBN 1-59426-557-7

  "The Golden Girdle" & "Three Wishes" © 2005 by Tysche Dwai

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  Cover art © 2006 by Stacey L. King

  Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press, LLC.

  www.Phaze.com

  The Gilded Girdle

  Long ago, in a far distant land, where standards of conduct rather different than our own applied, a handsome, dark-haired prince with eyes like midnight lounged at the window of his lonely, domed tower, chin in hand. As he studied the road beneath him with a jaded eye, he spied a golden lady in extreme distress running towards him.

  Bemused by the sight, he studied the approaching figure with more than casual interest as she raced toward him. What could be the cause of the lady's evident misery? the prince wondered idly, curiosity piqued by the mystery. He resolved to find out—it could brighten up an otherwise dull day.

  Leaning further out of the casement, he called out, "Mistress, whither away?"

  The lady froze, dropping the edges of the flimsy ripped bodice she clutched closed before her bosom and revealing a golden girdle, which shimmered in the midmorning sun. The girdle held in place a filmy iridescent skirt that merely accentuated rather than concealed the form of her lower limbs—particularly with the sun's impudent glare shining from behind her to erase all shadows.

  "That's the magical Jeweled Girdle of Ecstasy!" exclaimed the prince, his cock twitching at the very thought. "It is said that it bequeaths on its wearer superior sexual powers!" He looked with renewed amazement on the mysterious lady, wondering if he could coax from her a taste of the girdle's magical properties.

  "My lord," she cried tearfully, the bare flesh of her heaving bosom quivering with emotion and tantalizing his delighted eyes, "are you Prince Malecom? For 'tis said that only he can break the spell of this voracious belt, which I must feed with sensual encounters, else it will rip me in twain! If you indeed be the much-vaunted prince, please relieve me of this wretched torment!"

  "Malecom?" snorted the prince, as he greedily eyed the lady's ample charms. Wicked thoughts of fleshly delights were beginning to jostle for ascendancy behind his narrowed eyes. It was as if she was a carnal smorgasbord, and he was about to feast.

  "Malecom is nothing but a rascal, my dearest lady. Your true salvation lies with my humble self, Count Smirnoff of Belgravia, at your service." The prince bowed with a flourishing sweep of his plumed hat and a well-aimed smile at her exquisite face.

  Unfortunately, the effect was rather spoiled by his position in the tower high over her head, but it did offer him a rather interesting perspective. He took greedy advantage of the opportunity to study her.

  "But, my lord, you don't understand!" she wailed, her plentiful chest heaving mightily. "Only Prince Malecom can stop this egregious girdle from splitting me in half—look you here!" She lifted aside her filmy skirt, and the prince could see a broad band of mottled bruises encircling her creamy waist above a pair of gently rounded hips.

  The prince smacked his lips in eager anticipation. It was an unconscious reflex. When the lady lifted her gauzy garment, she inadvertently displayed to him the secret treasures not meant to be seen by the casual eye of man. He could not help staring at her creamy white skin—and the jewel-like strongbox of her cunt hidden away in its dense, golden forest.

  "My lord, I beg thee," she moaned piteously, resorting to the High Speech in her extremity. "This torture is more than I can bear! Thou needs must tell me where to find the Prince before it rips me asunder!"

  "But, my lady," he answered smoothly, resting his forearms on the broad windowsill and staring his fill, "if indeed 'tis only Malecom that can quench thy desire and end thy torment, then I will admit to thee now that I am indeed he!" exclaimed the prince. "I was merely testing you to make certain that you were not the evil wizard Frigi Diti in disguise. Tell me, poor dear lady, how can I free you from your bonds?"

  "If you truly are Malecom, you must unlock this fearsome belt," she whimpered, lovely hands moving restlessly about the ever-tightening girdle as the prince watched with mounting enthusiasm. "It is said that only Malecom has the equipment necessary to penetrate its evil mechanism."

  Seeing the lady's pale quivering flesh undulating below him, the prince could no longer hold himself calm. He burst out, "I know not what magical key I am purported to own—but I have one key that is even now thrusting forth from my loins and demanding use!"

  Saying this, the prince sprang upon the windowsill and drew forth from its confinement the key of which he spake. His cock waved in the air before him, as if sniffing out its prey, then stiffened to full attention, homing in on the lady beneath it.

  The prince pounced to the road beside her, led by his straining member. His reaching hand ripped free her gauzy skirt in one sweeping motion, and he began showering her throat and shoulders with lust-filled kisses.

  Having jumped from the top of the tower, he bore her to the springy turf under the force of his lunge, knocking her unconscious. Seeing the drastic consequences of his hasty action, the prince shrugged and grinned wickedly. "No matter. I believe I can find the correct keyhole for this eager tool of mine without instruction." And with one mighty thrust, he drove his rigid iron key home within the keyhole of her pussy.

  Grunting with exertion, Malecom twisted and turned his sturdy key this way and that, in a valiant effort to open the magic girdle. Then, in one orgasmic rush, the prince heaved mightily, and the lock gave way. Instantly, the girdle split open, allowing the lady's bountiful charms to burst forth unchecked at last.

  Spent, the prince fainted and fell forward, burying his face in the lady's alabaster bosom. The sweat from his fevered brow dripped into the lady's face, and she came to her senses with a start. The two halves of the girdle lay to either side of her, and she began to shower the slowly recovering prince with rapturous kisses of her own.

  "Oh, my beloved Malecom! Thou hast done it! And I have finally induced thee out of thy wretched tower! Do thee not recognize me? It is I, thy long-lost fiancée Cunnygoode—and I have—"

  "W-what art thou saying?" The prince lay stunned, shocked beyond movement. He couldn't remember ever having had a fiancée—although looking down at the lady's shapely body and delicate features, he realized he could do much worse. "I am sorry, my lady, but have you mistaken me for someone else?" asked the prince politely, forswearing the High Speech because it was difficult to keep the archaic pronouns straight—and besides, he thought it sounded rather silly. "I do not recall ever having a fiancée, and I quite fancy my ivory tower, actually."

  "You mean you really aren't…? Oh, no!" she cried. "Isn't this the Kingdom of Hardcoreia? I—I beg your pardon, sir!" Hastily she gathered the halves of her girdle and snapped it back into place, face crimson. "I really didn't mean—oh, God! I can't believe…shit!" And with that, she picked up her scattered clothing and fled down the road.

  The prince watched her go i
n amazement – the land was indeed Hardcoreia, but he had lived a solitary life in his ivory prison for longer than he cared remember, held captive by the dread Frigi Diti, and allowed by the curse to wander no further away from his tower than Furst Base, a stone marker scant yards distant. The lady was nearly to Seacund Base already and he could not follow her, even if he wished. "What a day," he sighed, shaking his head and turned back toward his tower.

  Suddenly, with the strength of a cannon ball caroming into his chest, long-forgotten memories of unrequited lust resurfaced in the foggy marsh of the prince's brain. He remembered the days when he had been free to rove the entirety of his kingdom, and a day spent gamboling in the shade of Thurd Base with a flaxen-haired wench before he was captured by the mage Frigi Diti and confined within his prison. He remembered vague promises that she would rescue him, and then—like a dam bursting—he remembered all!

  "Wait, Cunnygoode—my sweet lady, please stop!"

  The prince spun on his heels and raced after Cunnygoode. She had paused before Seacund Base, and at his hail, she started back toward him. As they met beneath the shadows of Furst Base, he slipped and inadvertently grabbed her ample breast as he pitched forward. The shock of sinking his fingers into the soft, pliant flesh instantly banished the last vestiges of the spell of impotence that the evil wizard Frigi Diti had cast upon him so many moons before.

  "It is you, my darling, Cunnygoode!" he cried. "Curse that vile wizard who was able to wipe the memory of your loveliness from my heart!"

  He gathered her into his arms and nipped lightly at her shell-like ear, whispering softly, "Come into my parlor, beloved, and let us investigate further the wonders I have been studying in my isolation for too long."

  The prince gently led Cunnygoode into the low, round-roofed cottage squatting at the foot of the upthrust spire of his tower, explaining that visitors were not allowed to enter his hallowed ivory place of study. It was there that the mage Frigi Diti had plied him with exquisite tortures—forcing him to study the ways of love without being able to experience any of the lessons he had learned firsthand. But Frigi Diti's plan had backfired—for now Malecom knew better than any man alive the ways to pleasure a partner in the throes of passion—and he longed for the opportunity to put those skills into practice on someone else.

  "No one will interrupt us here, beloved, I promise you," murmured the prince into Cunnygoode's neck while he gently massaged her shoulders. With a swift, practiced motion, the prince pushed aside the straps of the tattered dress she had resumed before her flight, and revealed once more to his gloating eye her full breasts in all their succulent glory. He was interested in more of her than just her ample bosom—but the prince contented himself with the knowledge that there would be plenty of time for him to reach his ultimate goal. "For now—foreplay," he grinned to himself in fervent anticipation. In his head, he thought, "and 'twill be worth the wait to savor another plunge of my cock into the hidden depths of her glorious cunt, especially if we both get to be awake this time."

  Malecom stepped behind her, discarding the final rags of her dress to leave her clad only in the gilded girdle. He ran his tongue lightly around the perfection of her ear, as his hands gradually massaged their way around her shoulders and down to a more pleasant perch. Cunnygoode sighed deep in her throat, and let her head fall back against his strong shoulder. He growled softly and attacked the vulnerable throat thus exposed to his ardent gaze with a flurry of burning kisses. Fixing his hot mouth upon her velvet skin, he suckled at her neck gently until he had branded her his own by drawing the fevered blood to the surface in a fiery love-mark.

  "My lord," she moaned, "my soul is yours!"

  "I take you at your word, my lady!" murmured the prince.

  "Take me any way you wish!" she replied, "but do it now!"

  He swept her into his sinewy arms and carried her into his innermost chamber, placing her tenderly onto his deep couch. While she lay half-inclined, the prince ran his tongue down the entire length of her quivering body—from her alabaster neck to her deep golden-fringed chasm, alternately licking and delicately kissing the sweet flesh. He teased her clit with his tongue until she moaned and arced toward him then pulled away with a smirk.

  Stretching her arms full flung to either side, he lightly ran his fingertips down her limbs, until the sensitive tips of his fingers barely grazed the sides of Cunnygoode's fragrant breast, tickly the stimulated nerve endings with torturous delicacy.

  Cunnygoode groaned softly and pushed the prince's fingers more firmly against her heaving chest. "Mmmm," she moaned at his touch, "…make love to me, my darling prince—I cannot bear it any longer. Fill the emptiness of my thirsting cunt with the rigid cock that is the emblem of your desire."

  The prince responded to her pleading by teasingly flicking the rough of his tongue against her sculpted nipples. They stood like twin, granite milestones beneath his nuzzling lips.

  "Hmmmm," he hummed against her breast, sending a shiver rippling through her. He stretched out beside her, his fingers exploring the forbidden territory of her weeping cunt—and then drawing upward to fetch up against the girdle that she had reattached before her flight. Rumors of its functions flashed through his mind, and he began to trace its contours, searching for the inset controls that were supposed to drive both wearer and partner over the edge of bliss into unendurable ecstasy.

  His questing fingers discovered a row of tiny raised buttons. "Hmm," he thought to himself, "let's see what this does, shall we?" And he depressed the first button.

  Instantly, he felt as if hands were pushing, kneading, pulling at him from all directions at once. The sensation was strange and he felt disoriented by sensual inputs deluging him from every which way. But it was certainly not an unpleasant sensation. "Cunnygoode, why do I feel so many hands pulling and kneading at me?"

  "That is the button known as the 'Helping Hands of Happiness'—it is designed to bring the participants to…the edge of the abyss, and keep them dangling…over that height until…the second button is pushed," she panted, her eyes mere slits of pleasure. "Oh…please…my beloved Prince…push the second button!" She arched against his now reclining form, adding to the building sensations caused by the kneading hands, which seemed to invade his very soul.

  He looked down at her desirably naked form, accented rather than hidden by the encircling barrier of the gilded girdle. "One moment, my dear. I am feeling rather over-dressed."

  Malecom rose from the couch, and—with a slow, teasing smile, managed to remove his black velvet clothing and arouse her to a fever pitch simultaneously. His prick, released from its bonds, once more stood at attention.

  "Oh, please!" she cried impatiently, "don't delay any longer! I must feel your hot rod caressing my inner depths. I long to merge with you into one—"

  Malecom's smile widened, and he shook a playful finger at her. "Do not be so hurried in your pleasure, my darling—anticipation is half the enjoyment."

  "But you are not the one enduring this torment!" she spat at him, hands fluttering at her waist, where the girdle had drawn forth beads of scarlet blood around her lily midsection. "If you do not remove this cursed object soon, I will be twice the woman for you to love."

  He could not help but feel a tad impatient with her complaints. "Well, why did you put the silly thing back on for then?"

  "To save my beloved Malecom, you idiot! You told me you were not he, and it was said to be the only way to remove his curse. I would have risked greater to restore him to my side."

  "My beloved!" Malecom felt as though his heart would burst at the magnanimity of the gesture. She was willing to endure this for his sake? He hurled himself upon the couch, his rigid rod divining unaided the lip of the shaft it sought. With a simultaneous movement, he forced the iron key of his cock once more into the now well-oiled lock of her cunt, and pressed the second button.

  The lovers screamed in unison as the girdle split as expected when unlocked, but then reformed itself to snap close
d around Malecom's supple waist. They were now locked together in their entwined embrace. He could not withdraw himself from her garden even if he so desired, and she could not eschew his favors.

  "Oh, bother!" he murmured; then the varied opportunities presented by the situation began to occur to him, and he grinned. "Might as well make the best of it." He bent his head and captured her mouth with his, sending his tongue exploring within her pearl-lined cavern. Her arms clutched him to her more firmly as her own tongue joined the playful thrust and parry for dominance.

  Rolling onto his side, so as not to crush her, he let his hands wander up and down her perfect body. By chance, his questing fingers strayed to press against the third button, and a gasp was wrung from his as the girdle against shifted its configuration.

  Far from releasing them, it molded them together even tighter, and rounded protuberances snaked forth to thrust into unprotected orifices. Malecom had never felt the sensation of such invasion before, and it both thrilled and repelled him.

  Cunnygoode moaned beneath him, and her hands fluttered to his chest, tweaking at his nipples. The girdle began to vibrate its invasive pods within their impromptu casings, and warmth radiated from its golden surface to circle and fill them with heat.

  She wound a leg around his waist, pulling him even deeper inside her, if such were possible, and pressed the fourth button. The projected invaders swelled within their new homes until Malecom thought he would surely be split in two by the girdle's invasion, but the sensation, combined with the vibrations coming through her body to hum against his straining prick, was enough to raise him to the brink of release.

  "I cannot hold back, my lady—" he panted into her ear.

  "Then let yourself come!" she cried, pressing the fifth button.