Princess to Pleasure Slave Collection: The Forbidden Book of Monstrous Pleasures

by Amanda Clover

  "That will kill me!" she cried and rose to her hands and knees. "Please, I'm a virgin. I know you can tell."

  Myxus growled and pinned her shoulders and head to the ground, leaving her pale, firm bottom raised and her innocent cove exposed. Her heart hammered in her chest. She could not budge from the cage of the dragon's mighty claw as he positioned his body above her. Heat radiated from the hot flesh of its cock. She was going to die. She knew it.

  "I'm a virgin!" She sobbed. "I'm a princess!"

  Myxus reared back as if she had struck him with her words. He roared so loud her bones felt as if they might shake loose. The weight lifted from her back. She did not move. Melinda was terrified and waiting for the blow, whatever sort it would be, that would end her life. She did not realize he had departed until long minutes had passed and she began to shiver from the cold. There was no sign of Myxus. No rumble from the cave behind her and no red shadow in the sky.

  She stood up on shaky legs. One glimpse over the edge of the cliff at the dizzying height and she pressed her body against the rocks. She stayed on the ledge until the wind began to bite her flesh and numb her fingers and toes. With nowhere else to go and no way down from the ledge, Melinda crept into the cave.

  The cave walls were smooth and decorated with intricate writing in a language the young princess did not recognize. It was beautiful, a script like the few elven books she had seen, but even more extravagant with its flourishes. The text reached into the darkness of the cave. Here and there were paintings on the bare rock, as exquisite as her family's portraits, but showing landscapes from above. As she had seen the village.

  "He did this," she said, running her fingers over the textured paint. She followed the writing and images deeper, light filtering into the cave from outside, and came upon portraits of women. Beautiful human women. They all seemed very young and innocent. She gasped as she realized one of the portraits was of a girl she recognized from her village.

  "He paints them from memory."

  She wheeled, instinctively covering her naked body with her hands as she was confronted with a young man dressed in a red leather coat. He was handsome and well-built. His features seemed between those of an elf and a man, combining the beautiful cheekbones and almond eyes of an elf with the masculine jaw and build of a man. His mane of white hair and golden eyes betrayed his heritage.

  "The dragon?"

  "My father," said the man. "I am Quyxus, dragon born. Come. Let me find you something to wear."

  She had no choice but to follow the man. As they passed into the deeper darkness of the cave, Quyxus snapped his fingers and sparked a torch. He scooped it from its sconce on the wall.

  "Neat trick, eh?" He smiled, displaying neat, white and very sharp teeth. "I'm studying father's magic while I am here. Pyromancy comes naturally to those of my blood."

  "Are you a..."

  "No...like my father I can assume almost any form. My natural form would not be welcoming, so I wear this as my mask, but I am not a dragon. I walk on two legs and my flying is, well, more of a controlled fall."

  She stared at him in disbelief. He laughed at her bewildered expression and continued deeper into the cave. The torch light soon caught a great, golden relic that towered into the darkness. It was a statue of a beautiful woman holding a baby in her arms. Melinda reckoned it stood over fifteen feet tall and the gold seemed to be solid.

  "My mother," said Quyxus. "I never knew her. She died giving birth to me."

  "I...I'm sorry," said Melinda. "She must have been beautiful."

  Quyxus nodded and continued on, pushing away the darkness with the guttering light of his torch. They passed more and more portraits of women. Some were almost black with mold. Others seemed so brittle that Melinda was careful not to brush against them as she walked past. She wondered if all of these women were offerings like her? Had Quyxus's mother been an offering?

  "What happened to these women?"

  "Do you really desire to know the truth?" asked Quyxus, his tone suggesting that she did not.

  A part of her did desire the truth, but she simply fell silent and continued to follow Quyxus, down a stone corridor and through a curtain into a living space that seemed furnished with pieces of a hundred different households. Nothing matched up and the resulting jumble gave the bedroom and study the feel of an exotic import shop in one of the large human settlements.

  Quyxus opened a crumbling wardrobe that was stuffed with dresses of all sizes and patterns. He motioned for Melinda to have a look. After some searching, the princess found a lovely blue dress that was very well-suited to her figure, hugging her slender body and sporting a high collar in a fashion she had never seen before. There were no underclothes for her, but it hardly seemed to matter once she was wrapped in the cool fabric of the dress.

  "You look regal," said Quyxus.

  "Where is he?"

  Quyxus did not answer her. He led Melinda out of the changing room and to the bedroom. There was some food on a small table and something large covered in a cloth. On a shelf were several clay pots that reminded Melinda of the clay pots of wine kept in the temple.

  "Tell me," said Quyxus, "of your heritage. Tell me your name."

  "I am Melinda Harowalk. Eldest daughter of Ban Harowalk and Gillia Harowalk. Sister of Eleanora Harowalk and granddaughter..."

  She proceeded to recite her heritage to several generations and included numerous cousins and regal blood dating back more than three hundred years. She left out that her family was all but deposed from power and had been a withering fruit of the family tree for the last decade. She knew her father and mother both had hoped to marry her off, relying on her beauty and good manners to secure a better future for their kingdom. Instead, she had ended up in the claws of a dragon.

  As she spoke, Quyxus listened and poured her some wine from a porcelain vase. It was spicy and sweet, but was purely wine and not the herbal concoction fed to her by Trammel. It eased her nerves a bit and that was all.

  When she had finished her genealogy, she sat back in her chair in a way that was a bit unladylike and she took a long gulp from her cup. Quyxus smiled.

  "There is an old book in my father's library," he said. "You can call it a prophecy but I consider it more of an almanac. It describes the cycles of the world. Although you may think of dragons as magical, they are a part of this natural world and as such they are a part of the pattern of all life. And they reproduce without magic."

  Melinda swallowed another big gulp of wine as she recalled the heat and the huge, pink length of Myxus's cock as he reared above her. She imagined such a tool pushing into a woman, bulging her belly and chest and skewering her out through her mouth like a roasting spit. In her imagination, the poor woman's eyes rolled back in her head as the dragon began to thrust in and out with her lifeless body flopping around his cock like a doll.

  "A princess," said Quyxus, "is the only vessel that can contain the child of a dragon and carry it to term. My mother was a princess and, based on your commendable knowledge of your breeding, she is distantly related to you. Very distant, but there is a relation."

  "Your mother died...I mean..."

  "Yes," agreed Quyxus, rising from his chair. "It is why father no longer bothers to take human form when he breeds with his wives. If they cannot survive the true size of his root, they will not survive the birthing process. He does not want to raise another child without a mother."

  "No woman could survive that, um, root."

  "Ah, but it is possible," said Quyxus. "It will not be easy. But there are ways."

  He crossed to the shelf and picked up one of the pots.

  "Ointment of the Mink." He unscrewed the top and held it out for her to have a smell. "Very exotic ingredients. I helped father collect them. But it is a potent elixir. It will give your body the flexibility to change, to conform to new shapes without losing your other attributes. But even this will require some work."

  He put the jar down and walked over to the covered
object. He pulled back the cloth draped over it and revealed a carved dragon lying on its back, its body forming a sort of saddle and a pink phallus of smooth stone rising from its abdomen. The cock was huge and intricately detailed, with the same flared tip and fringe of fleshy whiskers, but was still only a fraction of the size of what she had seen beneath Myxus.

  "You will practice each night for ten nights," said Quyxus. "It is made from hotstone and enchanted with the spirit of a golem. It will grow each night once it has been used until you are ready for my father. I will...assist you if you..."

  "No," said Melinda. "I won't do it."

  "Then you will not survive. In three days, with or without the practice, you will be mated by my father. There are few dragons left in this world and he must breed again before he dies. I am a disappointment to him, a half-breed, but you..."

  "I won't do it!" cried Melinda. "I'm not some perverse toy for your father. Some broodmare. Leave me! Please!"

  She threw herself onto the bed beside the perverse sculpture and began to sob. Quyxus left the chamber wordlessly. Melinda thrashed and tore at her lovely dress. The wine could not dull the anguish and disgust she felt at being commanded to perform acts with a stone chariot so she could be mated with a dragon. Even if she survived the mating, would she die giving birth?

  The princess tried to find sleep in the darkness of the cave, but each time she thought she might drift away, her eyes alit again upon the lewd silhouette of the sculpture beside the bed. She sighed and got up from the bed and drank all of the wine left on the table. Even the cup Quyxus had poured for himself. It helped a little.

  Her attention returned to the sculpture. She walked over to it and trailed her fingers over the lacquered wood of the dragon sculpture. It was carved in a style that made the dragon seem almost comical, with big eyes and a smiling face that would peer up at her if she dared climb into its obscene saddle.

  The hotstone root of the dragon, a shade of pink even brighter and smoother than the real dragon's cock, stuck straight up. It was mounted into a slot in the dragon's sculpture. She turned it and it began to unscrew from the wooden chariot. She held it with both hands and began to turn and turn. To her surprise, it began to grow warm in her grasp and the stone hardness of it softened into something more like flesh.

  It pulled free of the wooden mount and she held it in her hands. There was a slight flexibility. It was heavy and huge, but the length did not seem so impossible. A warmth grew in her tummy. She throbbed between her legs.

  "No!" she cried and tossed the hotstone cock onto the bed. "I cannot."

  And yet she walked over to the shelf that held the Ointment of the Mink. She unscrewed the top and looked in at the glistening ointment.

  "What would I do with this?" she asked.

  Yet the answer seemed clear. An ointment would heal what it touched. If she intended to touch her body with that thing on the bed. She laughed at the thought, but when the laughter had died she carried the pot over to the bed and sat down beside the stone phallus. It had returned to its cool, rigid state.

  She slipped her fingers over it. A dozen inches? Maybe more. With that flared tip that looked like it would be impossible to fit inside her, but at least not deadly. She took a deep breath. Her heart was hammering faster.

  "I don't want to die," she said, but it was a cover. She was already convinced. Whether it was the wine or her hopeless situation, or the handsome face of Quyxus, she knew she was going to do it.

  The blue dress slid up her legs and above her thighs, exposing the furry darkness of her cunt to the cool air of the cave. The torchlight lent her pale flesh a reddish hue. The shadows moved with the flame and added a sense of life to the hotstone phallus.

  Melinda daubed two fingers into the cool ointment within the pot. It was thick and had a slightly unpleasant smell, a musk of animal tallow perhaps, or some milk squeezed from a strange root. She began to smear the ointment onto the stone cock. It began to come to life as her fingers spread the pale cream around the cap, between the stony bristles and down the shaft. It grew warmer and warmer until it was even hotter than her body.

  She lifted it across her bare thighs. The warmth was relaxing. It still seemed impossible, but the more she touched the object, the more she wanted it inside her.

  "Strange that he would want me to claim my own maidenhead," she whispered. "I don't relish the pain of that."

  Nevertheless, the slender princess scooped the last of the ointment from the pot and smeared it across her glistening mound. Her groove swallowed the white cream and it soaked into her like a balm. The warmth of her body grew to a fever of lust that centered on her virginal cove. She squirmed and lifted the now-fleshy cock in her hands. At actually bent a bit with its own weight as she held it by the base and aimed its flared tip at her unsullied mound.

  "By the gods. By Augustain. I want to live!"

  She tilted her hips and dropped the weight of the cock against her virgin entrance. She shuddered and scissored her thighs against the cock as it made contact with her clit. The heat melted into her body and she pushed, thrusting against it and forcing the tip to wedge into her little quim. She cried out, pain and pleasure pinching her eyes as the tip opened her up. She felt as if she might rip open, as if her body could not withstand the hot pressure of the cock, but she pushed again.

  The head forced past her resisting flesh and popped into her tender channel. Her maidenhead broke, a welling of blood that oozed out as she plunged the tool deeper into her body. She had to know her limit. She had to take it all. She pushed and pushed, screaming as if she was being impaled and feeling as if she might actually be. Her cervix met the thrusting tip. The fleshy whiskers tickled inside her clenching, agonized walls. She pushed until the false bollocks of the cock rested against her tender anus.

  "Gods!" she gasped.

  She held it inside her, totally filled, her body tight around the huge cock. She had to catch her breath. She had to know that she was still alive. But her body demanded more of her. The heat from the phallus was triggering some sort of reaction inside her. She needed it. She needed more.

  She grabbed the bollocks of the false cock with both hands and began to pull. It was like taking a foot out of a wet sock, so tight and gripping with inner muscles, but the cock slid out, inch by inch. It was smeared with her blood. She tried not to look at how much. She closed her eyes and plunged it back into herself. Her legs lifted into the air, folded at the knees, as the virgin princess began to truly fuck herself with the huge false cock.

  "Forgive me," she wept. "Please."

  She was not sure whether she was asking the forgiveness of the gods, her family, or herself, for the growing pleasure she felt. It was a betrayal of her revulsion to feel such incredible desire and growing pleasure. She recalled Trammel. The way his cock had rubbed against her aching bud. His prick was nothing compared to this. A grape beside a melon. She worked her hips and squeezed the cock in and out of herself.

  "No," she moaned. "No. No. Please. No."

  The pleasure was a growing tempest. She could not deny it. She fucked herself faster and harder. Stretching her body. Forcing it to accept the model of the dragon's cock. The heat of it was exquisite. A fire of pleasure that raged inside her slippery channel.

  "Yes!" she finally cried. "Yesssss!"

  Her mouth hung open. Her body arched and she verily threw herself against the cock which she plunged into her shuddering tunnel with both hands. Her muscles squeezed tight around the cock and it throbbed back, powerful twitches and a sudden, hot gush of liquid into her depths. She gasped at the sensation. The molten heat of whatever was happening inside her. She realized something might have ruptured in her body and she did not care. She could not stop, she could only ride the tempest of her pleasure.

  She collapsed back among the pillows and slowly withdrew the cock from her tender channel. She was still shuddering with aftershocks of pleasure. She was surprised at how little pain she felt. The tip of the huge cock pop
ped free and there was a sudden gush of trapped liquid that poured out of her aching cunt and drooled down her asshole onto the bedding. She lifted her head and saw, not blood as she expected, but a great amount of white seed. Was this the doing of the ointment or some magic spell put upon the cock?

  Having no experience with sex, she decided that perhaps this was quite normal. She scooped up some of the liquid on her fingertips. It had a musky smell. Not unpleasant. She tasted it and it was salty and sweet. She tasted it a bit more and decided she liked licking it from her fingers, but she was not at all eager to lick up such a large amount.

  She cradled the warm flesh of the cock against her, scooted away from the liquid pooled in the bedding, and fell asleep.

  When she awoke, she had been bathed and dressed in a robe of white silk that tied loosely around her slender hips. The bedding was changed and the cock returned exactly as it had been on the chariot of the wooden dragon. No, she realized, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Not exactly as it had been. The cock had grown to almost twice its size. It was now as big as a mule's cock.

  She got up from the bed and found a small meal of fruits and sausages had been put out on the table for her. She drank from a wine bottle of faraway vintage and filled her belly. She felt replenished and well-rested. Almost happy if it were not for her predicament. Her body felt different, stronger in away, not at all sore.

  Melinda left the inner sanctum of the cave and ventured out into the part lit by the distant light of day. She followed the light, past the painting and script and onto the windswept ledge. It was not quite so cold and very sunny. She strode out almost the edge and enjoyed the feeling of being so high and of the sun beating down on her arms and face. On a whim, she untied her robe, letting the silk slip from her shoulders and pool at her feet. She stepped onto it so that it would not be carried away by the wind. She stretched out in the golden light and enjoyed the way the sun caressed her naked body.