The Art of Princess Maintenance Ch. 02

Finally, Frederick had apparently gotten his fill of the belt. Though he hadn't touched it, his cock was glistening and hard. Satyr, gotta love em. He leaned over to whisper something in Mabel's ear, and the word 'NO' began to appear a lot more frequently in her stream of profanity. The goat made a bleating laugh and moved to stand behind her, one hand on the pale skin of the princess's borrowed rump, the other guiding his cock.

"Ohh, I know what he said," the nymph whispered, "he told me once that she wouldn't ever give up the butt. You can't say that to a satyr. I think that bugged him more than the alimony."

"And you're okay with him fucking her?"

She gave me a puzzled glance. "He's a satyr."

"Of course, how silly of me."

Both of Frederick's hand had a deathgrip on the princess's ass, squeezing her flesh so tightly I was pretty sure she'd have a nice black and blue handprint on each cheek after this was over. His thick shaft was actually bowing slightly with the amount of pressure his hips were applying. Suddenly, his tool straightened out, he released a satisfied bleat, and Mabel's yelling rose to the level of incoherent shrieks. He'd managed to get the tip of his horsecock past her defenses. and she was pounding the altar with her fists, although she seemed unable to move even an inch away from him.

I was watching with fascination as inch after inch of his black demon-dick disappeared into the princess's asshole when a connection request came through. The Fairy Godmother Committee chair opened a channel.

"I scryed that you were awake and I thought I'd check in for a status update. How's the princess faring?"

I glanced from the kindly face of the wizened old fairy to where Frederick was starting to pick up steam plundering the royal ass. "Well, at the moment she's being buttfucked by a half-demon goatman."

"Buttfucked by a half-demon goatman, you say."

"Yup, buttfucked by a half-demon goatman."

"I... see. By her own choice?"

"Nope, she's currently possessed by a different demon."

I lost the FGC chairman's next reply, because Sylvie, apparently fired up by the show, had slid a pinkie under my skirt and had begun rubbing my fat fairy cunt.

"I... uh... no physical harm... gottagobye!" I closed both the channel and my eyes, enjoying the ministrations of the horny nymph. Her other hand was behind her apron, twisting a nipple as she watched her husband simultaneously ream out the asshole(s?) of his ex-wife and a virgin princess.

This tableau held for a while, Sylvie fingering me while Frederick bleated contentedly as he took his frustrations out on his shrieking, enraged ex-wife. He didn't seem in a hurry to finish the process, and I decided that his wife and I needed to be a little better acquainted. I moved up off her now-soaking finger and flew right in front of her face, blocking her view. I turned my back to her, lifted by skirts out of the way and bent over. Looking back over my shoulder, I said "Tongue. Now."

Like a good, submissive nymph, Sylvie brought up one hand to support me so I didn't have to fly and obediently began to give my cunt and ass a very thorough tongue bath.

"Yeah, mmnh, you know what you're good for. Ungh. You don't fucking stop till I say st... ungh oh god oh..."

Frederick, meanwhile, had twisted his hands into the princess's hair and drug her back up against him, his full length pistoning in and out of her bowels. Mabel's yelling had taken on a different tenor, and one of her hands had slipped down to rub at the princess's cunt. Some of her shrieks could probably be better classified as moans at this point. Frederick's freakishly long tongue (demon trait?) snaked around between her lips and she let him in willingly, vocalizing around the demonic kiss.

I was already bathing his current wife's tongue in the juices of my first orgasm (sue me, I've had a long dry spell). When it subsided, I slumped down in her hand, spent. She wasn't done, though, and she began plucking off my clothes like a barbie doll. Soon she had me naked and unresisting, and was running her warm, velvet tongue over every millimeter of my chubby body while I moaned and writhed. The nice thing about nymphs is it doesn't matter if you have body issues, they have zero issues with your body. It's impossible to be self conscious for very long when something is trying to inhale your sexual organs with obvious enthusiasm.

She flipped me onto my belly, and gently cupped me with both of her hands. I nuzzled my cheek against the soft skin of her fingers, then moaned when she began rubbing the muscles of my back with her thumbs, careful of the join of my wings. I felt like I was going to liquefy. She raised me back to her mouth. I lay limp, draped over in her palms, my wings the only part of me moving, as they rose and fell in a desultory wave. I felt the warm cloud of her breath move over me, then cool air as she inhaled my scent. She said, "Oh, you taste so nice. I could just eat you up."

I managed to look back over my shoulder at her, her lovely features shrouded by the gossamer of my wings. I was still too far gone to respond with my usual wit, but not too far gone to see how dilated her pupils were. That's a sure sign of a nymph getting her rocks off by getting someone else's rocks off. Her face got even closer to me, and I relaxed my head back down against her soft skin. I shuddered a little when I felt the brush of her tongue across the soles of my feet. By this point, as her lips pressed against my toes and her tongue slipped under me, I would have willingly been a meal.

Her lips were heaven against my legs, sliding along my calves, then my thighs, squeezing me each time she drew me a little further into her mouth. Excited puffs of her breath flowed across me, ruffling my wings. Her lips slid over my hips, spreading wider to accommodate my chubby curves, and her tongue splayed my legs apart and began to stroke my fat cunt, which by this point was more than ready for round two. I began to vocalize, and she began using her fingers to help press more of me inside of her.

I felt her upper lip reach the join of my wings. She pressed her jaw forward until she managed to push her lower lip over my plump tits. By this point, I was just a head, wings, and a pair of limply dangling arms sticking out of her pretty mouth. Her amazingly nimble tongue began to work my entire body, nipples to toes, pausing occasionally to flick at my pussy.

She kept it up for I don't know how long, using her now-empty hands to pleasure herself while she sucked and licked my body to orgasm after orgasm. I just rode there in her mouth, more or less helpless. The few times I managed to uncross my eyes long enough to focus on anything, my view was of the revenge sex on the altar.

Mabel was no longer trying to yell anything. She and Frederick had climbed up onto the altar together, and her face was pressed against the cool stone. She was fucking the princess's ass onto her ex-husband's cock with at least as much energy as he was spending trying to split his ex-wife in half. Suddenly, she did start shrieking again, bucking through what looked like a pretty intense orgasm. The thrill of power must have been too much for Frederick, because he threw his head back, goaty eyes wide, and released an ear-piercing scream. I could almost swear I saw moving swells along the shaft of his cock as he pumped a ridiculous amount of goat-demon semen (heh) into my princess.

He collapsed onto her, and they both lay there panting for a minute. Then he pulled his softening manhood out of the gaping royal asshole with a wet pop and said, "Now fuck off, ye betch."

The ritual released with a crackle of energy, and the belt-marks, neck bites, and, most notably, gaping ruin of an asshole vanished as though they had never been. Well, I mean, her asshole didn't vanish, or anything, it was still there. Just much daintier and prettier and virginal.

"She'll leak cum for an hour." he said, helping the princess off the altar. He apparently meant his ex-wife. Hell of a ritual. She was, predictably, confused, still blinking sleepily, but she accepted a sandwich from Sylvie and was willing enough to follow the promise of another few hours of slumber on the couch. The nymph began gathering up everything into her basket, gently carrying my limp (and still damp) form in one hand, and we began the long climb back up to the kitchen.

----

Frederick was pleased as punch with how everything had gone, and in the morning, after breakfast, he'd done his best to convince the princess to go back to the castle, with Sylvie's help. Much to my amazement, she agreed. Sylvie had found her a hooded robe that she could belt and a pair of sandals that mostly fit. Everything else the nymph had was cut to fit her much more generous frame. I thanked her on behalf of the princess, and then took one more grinding ride to orgasm on her sweet tongue right there at the breakfast table. Frederick paused long enough to run a calloused finger in my dress, mauling my tiny breasts, then he left us to it, heading outside to saddle up an old mule he was donating to the cause.

So it was in high spirits that I trailed the princess as she rode the mule away from the farm, and it was with no small amount of resignation that I watched her direct it in precisely the wrong direction at the first fork in the trail.

Oh well, at least I got laid.

----

Later that night, as the princess snored gently from where she curled next to the warm flank of Puppy the mule (don't ask), I began to drowse on my perch in a nearby tree.

Suddenly, with a flash of blinding light and a smell like slightly mildewed apples, a new figure appeared in the forest.

Clad in the purest shimmering samite as well as what I'm pretty sure was too much glitter for any self-respecting stripper, a be-robed, be-ringed, glowing, eight foot tall woman stared at me eye to eye from about a foot away.

She spake, "Know You Me, Little Sister?"

"You!" I gasped, "You're Hecate, goddess of magic and, uh, crickets?"

"Close Enough. " she thundered in a voice like the singing of a thousand bats.

She leaned close, close enough that I kinda wanted to do an armpit check. Her brows drew together, and with a thund'rous scowl, again she spake, "They Are Not Backward."

"I... uh... what?"

"Goat Knees Do Not Bend Backward. The Thing You're Calling The Knee Is Actually The Ankle."

"uh..."

"I Am Displeased When It Is Said That Goats Have Backward Knees. They Do Not."

I blink, "Uh, won't happen again."

"See That It Does Not."

With clap of thunder, she was gone.

Puppy the mule was looking at me with a bemused, sleepy expression, but the princess had snored through everything. She stirred slightly, mumbling to herself, farted softly, and was still once more.