From: email@example.com Subject: New Story: THE PRINCESS & THE PEA by MissLilyO F/M,M/F Date: 28 Nov 1996 01:43:59 GMT
Hi, gang! Got carried away with this nutzoid thing, but had fun writing it. If you're 18, go read the original fairy tale. If you like spanking (and major fooling around), I hope you like this. Love, and Happy Thanksgiving to all. Lily
Once upon a time in the far away Kingdom of Chlamydia, there lived a queen known as the Mother of Quality Control. Some of her subjects just called her a mother. Queen Prunelda was dedicated to managing her tiny Kingdom's finances, and no goods or services came in or out of the country without the Queen's express review and approval. Her diligence extended to the affairs of her timid and somewhat overweight son and heir to the throne, Prince Burton. Burton was the issue of Prunelda's fiscally sound marriage to aged King Larrdasse, who conveniently kicked the royal bucket after Burton's conception. His timely demise filled the royal coffers with gold and kept Prunelda from ever again having to put forth the marital due. (Although some palace wags unkindly said Larrdasse checked out of this vale of tears precisely to avoid such future encounters anyway.)
Among the things the queen was quite insistent upon is that any consort chosen for her son had to be the genuine article--no "civilian" wannabes for her boy. The lady had to be a real princess. And she had to be loaded.
To that end, Queen Prunelda devised an authenticity test for prospective brides. The young lady would be invited to come to Chlamydia for a visit where she would spend the day in endless reception lines, would be the guest of honor at a grand ball, and at last would be ushered to her suite of rooms. Nary a princess entered her private chambers without uttering a gasp of surprise at what awaited her eyes. The queen had arranged to have no fewer than 31 mattresses piled one atop the other for the beauty to sleep on. The bed was so very high it required a ladder to reach the top. Hidden between the frame of the bed and the first mattress was a dried pea. The queen reasoned that a young lady of truly royal birth would sleep poorly because of the offending pea, thus proving herself worthy as consort to Burton. While she slept, the queen also rifled her purse for her financial statements to determine the potential in the girl's dowry.
"Can I keep this one, Mummy, can I please, can I?" wheedled Burton after a particularly lovely princess had spent the night on top of the pea. Burton had been unable to take his eyes from her generous breasts, the milky tops of which had spilled over the bodice of her shimmering ballgown. He was positively drooling come morning, having spent the better part of the night engaged in an activity which his mother forebade soundly. Furtively he checked his palms for hair before asking his mother once more if he might please be allowed to keep this pretty princess.
"*Can I*??? That's 'May I', Son. And No! You certainly may not keep her!" Shaking her head impatiently at her son, Prunelda reached for the birch cluster she kept handy. She grabbed his trousers and yanked them down, baring his chubby bum. After she had soundly thrashed him and brought tears coursing down his face, she scolded him. "How many times do I have to tell you to use good grammar? And you know perfectly well that if the girl sleeps soundly, she's out the door roundly. Know it. Learn it. Live it."
"Awww, Mum," he grumbled, sniffling as he pulled his velvet trousers up over his welted backside.
So far, every princess who visited Chlamydia and slept on the unusual bed prepared for her by the queen had awakened refreshed and rested the next morning. "And how did we sleep?" the solicitous queen would inquire. Invariably, the girl would smile lazily and remark that she had slept as though on a cloud. Following which statement, she would soon find herself packed off home without so much as a "be sure and write when you find work."
The years passed and it began to be whispered that poor Burton would have to marry his right hand for want of a more constant companion. However, one dark and, dare I say it? stormy night, there was an insistent knocking at the palace door. The queen's royal doorman was summoned from a dead sleep by the loud brass knocker, swinging back the huge oaken doors to find a half-drowned coachman in royal garb.
"My mistress, Leona, Princess of Helmsley, requires sanctuary immediately!" cried the coachman over the great noise of the storm. The doorman found himself quite soaked through by the vicious wind- driven rain before he brought the unhappy servant inside.
"What?" he said. "What's this? Your mistress is a princess?"
"Yes, yes!" cried the agitated coachman. "She was traveling home and our journey was delayed by this terrible storm. The coach has thrown a wheel and my mistress is quite beside herself over the entire trauma!"
All the commotion awakened both the queen and Prince Burton. Quickly they were apprised of the dilemma of the princess. "Well of COURSE you must bring your mistress here. I'll send my own coach with you to fetch her. Dobbs, give this man some warm, dry clothing. We'll tabulate it on his invoice before he leaves. And some brandy! The princess will be quite exhausted. We have a guest room all ready for the young lady."
In a short while, the princess arrived, fuming with anger. "What kind of low-life, pond scum-sucking no good Kingdom IS this anyhow?" she demanded of the startled palace staff, who stood ready to accommodate their unexpected visitor. "The damn tassles were nearly worn off in that moth-eaten coach! Don't you people ever get that thing cleaned?"
Pausing in her tirade long enough to look around at the Grand Foyer of the Palace Chlamydia, she remarked. "No wonder. What a dump. Of all the gin joints....I had to throw a wheel in this god-forsaken backwater hick kingdom! I hope you people have flush toilets!"
Just then the queen descended the long curving staircase, looking appraisingly at the bedraggled visitor. Her son trailed shyly behind her, straining around his mother's broad back to get a look at Princess Leona.
However unattractive the attitude of the princess, the rain had done nothing to detract from her unparalled perfection of face and form. She was an angel. Her hair was long and fell in cascades of tiny pale amber waves to well below her bottom. The ends were caked with mud from the storm, but it was clear to the eye of the discerning that the chick would clean up nicely. From her wide blue eyes with the sweeping length of lashes, to the pert nose, to the generous mouth with pearly white teeth, she was drop dead gorgeous. No less arresting was her figure, unmistakably revealed in bas relief beneath the dripping garments. Full high breasts with mouth-watering nipples, a tiny waist surely no more than 17 inches, round womanly hips, well-turned ankles and small dainty feet--surely poets vied for the chance to immortalize her beauty in verse with painters who sought to capture her on canvas.
"Oooooh, can I have her, Mummy? Please can I?" begged Burton.
"Hush, boy!" Turning her full attention on the growling girl, the queen said, "My dear, you are welcome to the hospitality of the crown as long as you are a guest in Chlamydia. I've arranged to have cook whip up a little repast. Surely you must be famished."
"Oh puhleeeease," replied Leona. "Tell me you're not serving beets or collard tops or something. I could eat the tail end out of a skunk right now, but I much prefer hummingbird tongue pate."
Taken aback and nearly rendered speechless by the girl's rude audacity, Queen Prunelda stammered, "Well of course we have pate. Our cuisine is renowned throughout all the east and we..."
"Yeah, yeah," spit the girl, cutting her off in mid-assurance. "Just bring it on before I faint and fall in it!" She swept imperiously past the astonished queen and her slavering son into the royal dining room and went straight to the head of the table.
The head waiter placed a bowl of steaming leek soup before the hungry girl, who barely waited till he'd released the bowl to pick it up and drink it greedily. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she looked up, annoyed by the presence of the queen. "What are you gonna do? Stand there and watch me eat, for heaven's sake? You're putting me off my feed."
Only her royal breeding and years of diplomatic practice kept the queen from having her young visitor hauled off to the dungeons for a nice morning beheading. She calculated the risk of having to explain to any visiting troops what may have become of their beloved princess against the unknown quantities of the princess' credentials and net worth. Opting for quality control, as was her wont, the queen carefully pushed her roiling emotions down and managed an even response.
"Of course, my dear," she said through clenched teeth, "you've indeed had a very traumatic journey. I can understand your being distraught. Please take your time and enjoy your supper. My son, Prince Burton, will remain behind to keep you company and show you to your suite. I'll have the servants lay out nightwear, and I've arranged for staff to collect your luggage and have your own things thoroughly cleaned and dried out before you travel on. Now, my dear, if you'll kindly excuse me, I'll take my leave, as I'm an old lady and the hour is very late."
The princess never bothered to look up during the gracious speech, instead she lit in with feral ferver to the stuffed squabs on the platter before her. Thus it was that her mumbled, "Yeah, yeah, hit the tick and take junior here with you," was not quite understood by the retiring queen, and she withdrew from the dining room, leaving Burton gaping longingly at the bedraggled beauty.
As soon as he was certain they were alone, he tried the opening gambit that he'd used in so many other meetings with princesses. "Can I touch your tits? Can I, huh? Can I?"
"Jeeeesh! Is that the best you can do, you pathetic little weasel?" sneered the girl, toast points sticking out of her mouth, crumbs dropping daintily to her bosom. " 'Can I touch your tiiiiits?' " she mocked.
He blushed deeply, but did not take his eyes from her bodacious bubbies. "Get me some wine, numb nuts," she ordered, and he jumped up immediately and scurried to the side table where beautiful decanters stood sparkling with royal vintages.
He chose a lovely chablis, pouring it with a flourish into the tall stemmed glass at her place setting. She snatched the glass up and drained it, spitting out a mouthful squarely into the startled prince's face. "Pttttouie! Bet the doctors decided the horse had diabetes!" she exclaimed. Poor Burton stood with wine dripping from his quite weak chin, his lower lip trembling a bit.
"Awww, whatsamatter, Burpdumb? Are you gonna cry?" she sing-sang to him.
"My name is BurTON," he corrected, lamely.
"Whatever. Get me some brandy. Preferably some that doesn't taste like horse piss, okay?"
He brought a decanter and a huge balloon snifter to the table. Suspiciously she snuffed at the mouth of the bottle and finally poured a generous dollop of brandy, downing it in one big swallow. "Not bad. Get me some more meat."
At last the princess deemed she'd had enough to satisfy her appetite. Her family was possessed of remarkable metabolic capabilities, for despite the impressive volume of calories she consumed each day, her girlish figure remained unblemished by even an ounce of unwanted flesh.
"Okay, creampuff," she said at last. "Shag your fat ass upstairs and make sure my bath is nice and hot."
Glowering, Burton turned even redder and hurried out of the room to speak to the chamber maids readying the bath for the princess. "She shouldn't oughta talk like that to me," he groused to himself. "Mummy wouldn't like it one bit, no sirree."
Satisfied that all was well, Burton led the sated seductress upstairs to a sumptuous bathroom. The sunken tub was filled with steaming hot water and fluffy clouds of pearlescent bubbles. The fragrance of costly salts filled the air with their heady scent. Unembarrassed by his presence, she shucked off her sodden garments and stepped gracefully into the tub, sliding down with a satisfied sigh. "What are you gonna do, junior, stand there and gape? Get over her and wash my back, moron."
Burton had to pinch himself to believe this was really happening. Here before him was the culmination of every boyish fantasy he'd ever entertained in all his 35 years. Her rosy nipples peeked up from the water and seemed to float like succulent berries on whipped cream. He had glimpsed the forbidden fruit of her golden fuzzed peach, lips pouting prettily as she'd stepped into the tub. Running his soapy hands over the silken skin of her back, he dipped low in the water, feeling the firmness of her fundament. As his hands made the trip round the outside of her hip to the gates of her paradise, she splashed him with a big wave of water, filling his eyes with stinging soap. "Hey, BirdDrop, get your mitts off the merchandise or else!" she snarled.
"It's Burton, BUR - TON!" he cried, his eyes smarting as he tried to wipe the soap from them. "You aren't very nice."
"Awww, put a cork in it. Get me a towel. 'You aren't very ni-ice!' Where'd you get that line, Bartlett's Book of Stupid Come Backs? What are you gonna do, spank me?" she sneered at him.
Burton had scored very highly on his SAT's (although it was rumored that the health of the teachers was in jeopardy had he flunked), and given enough time, he could put two and two together and come up reasonably close to four. He thought about the lovely lass's churlish behavior, he remembered the taste of the birch when HE misbehaved, she HAD just mentioned spanking. As these thoughts tumbled round and round, he offered a huge fluffy towel to the nimble girl in the tub.
She stepped close to the fire and rubbed her flawless body to a fine glow. Her attention was turned from Burton while she drew a large hairbrush through her flaxen hair, so she was most startled when the brush was taken from her grasp and she was lifted in the air by his powerful arms.
"Hey! Put me down, you big lummox!" she demanded.
"Nope, nope. I'm gonna spank you. You're gonna get it. You shouldn't oughtta talk to me like you do. My mother always spanks me. I'm gonna spank you. Yep."
As much to reassure himself as warn Leona, Burton talked away as he dragged the struggling princess to the big chair near her bath. He yanked her across his broad lap, tossed the towel away from her still- damp bottom, and laid a huge spank on her left cheek.
He was enthralled with the way his big hand flattened her round mound, and how it then plumped back up, bearing a sweet pink spot where the spank had landed.
"YYYYYYEEEEEEEEOOOWW!!" she shrieked, loud enough to wake the dead two kingdoms away.
However, the room was draped with heavy tapestries and thick Persian carpeting, and no one at all came to the rescue of the spanked spitfire.
Again, the meaty palm rose and fell, painting a matching spot on the other cheek. And again, the princess made a mighty attempt to bust Burton's eardrum with her scream of indignation and pain.
Burton was thoroughly enjoying himself, however, and would have had to have an arrow through his eye at that moment to make him stop his activity. This was the answer to every prayer he'd ever sent heavenward in all his 35 years. Here was a luscious (if loud- mouthed) lady, naked and fresh-scented and perfect, over his knee, legs thrashing to give him a clear view of ALL her charms, her beautiful breasts bouncing by his thighs. He was spanking a goddess. His rampant manhood raged against her naked hip. Even when he'd spied on the other princesses, he'd never gotten THIS hard.
After spanking her for several moments with his open hand, Burton took up the big oval hairbrush, which only a short time before had been spinning the gold in Leona's locks, and began to spank the pouting princess in earnest.
A strange thing began to take place. The more he spanked, the more in command, princely even, Burton felt. This was surely the first time in his life he was entirely responsible for the events in his world. And the more she was spanked, the more turned on Leona was. No one had EVER dared cross her before, and as Burton's confidence swelled along with his princely lance, Leona became more tractable. A well of sweetness no one (not even her beloved mother) dreamed existed was tapped. Leona discovered a yielding, soft, kittenish, loving side to a nature that would normally curdle fresh milk. As unexpected as a safeword in a deSade Convention, were the tears that suddenly spilled from her perfect eyes, and the sobs that tore from her sweet lips.
Leona became aware of a burning fire in her loins, one that could not be quenched with water. The more her bottom was burned with the hairbrush, the more the other fire raged. Her little love button rose from its cowl and peeked out, as if to beg for attention. Her nipples became diamond hard and distended, yearning to be fondled. Dewdrops sparkled on the soft fur between her perfect legs, and as she thrashed and scissored, the Prince was afforded a delicious view of her glistening folds and winking little rosebud. She moved deliberately against his princely pole, causing him all manner of mind-bending sensations.
At last, neither of them could bear the tension any longer. He spun the girl around and lifted her above him, facing him. In a flash, her legs were around him and she lowered herself on him, impaled and impressed with his princely proportions.
"Oh my god!" they shouted in unison. Her years of skill in the saddle most assuredly paid off as she rode her handsome mount to the top of one peak after another. For his part, he whinnied in much the same voice as her Arabian stallion, and bucked to meet her every thrust. At last, the pinnacle was reached and horse and rider found that searched-for symmetry that spells release, and as the two drifted back toward earth, everything had changed.
Burton held the languid Leona as she lay against his broad chest, his heartbeat just beginning to slow. He felt a new confidence, a deep sense of self-assurance. Even his voice was lower. This activity was distinctly therapeutic, and he made a mental note to mention it to the royal physician one day soon.
In time, Leona stirred, and Burton helped her to stickily disengage. "I'm sleepy, Burty," she cooed.
"Yes, I'm sure you are, Leona," he said, "but you're not quite finished with your punishment."
Her lower lip in its pouty glory, she looked up at him with fresh tears threatening to spill over. "Oohhh, please, no, Burty. Don't spank me any more. I'm already sore."
"You were horrendously rude to Mother," he scolded. "She's a mercenary old bat, but she was very kind and hospitable to you, Leona. In the morning, you will apologize to Mum.. I mean, to Mother. But in the meanwhile, I'm going to give you a hard dose of the strap for your unpleasantness to hostess and staff."
And he did just that, bending the compliant princess over the end of the brocade divan and lacing into her naked nates with the broad leather strap. He was very thorough in covering her bottom, and even her tender thighs with the kiss of the leather. After which, he took her from behind, stabbing into her womanly sheath while his slippery finger probed her other tight little opening, causing her the most delicious paroxysms of pleasure.
After another period of sweet relaxation and recovery, Burton put his lips close to the girl's ear, and whispered sweet somethings to her, words that would forever change the course of her life.
At last, the beleagured princess climbed the ladder to lay atop the massive pile of mattresses. Prince Burton hastened off to his room, fearing that, come morning's light, his new-found knowledge and assurance would be lost like dew to the sun's kiss.
Much to his delight, however, Prince Burton was quite commanding the next morning at breakfast.
"Where IS that nasty girl," fumed the Queen. "We shall make short work of her. I did check her out, and the kingdom from which she hales is fabulously wealthy. But her brutish behavior tells me she is a pretender and not a real princess. I can't have such a charleton as consort for my Burton!" she declared.
"On the contrary, Mother," Burton responded evenly in his new lower voice. "I believe Leona was overtired, unused to such rigorous and daunting travel as she experienced yesterday, and will be quite contrite this morning. I wouldn't be a bit surprised if she offers you a most heartfelt apology."
The queen gaped at his new-found vocabulary. Several reprimands leapt to the lips of the astonished Queen, but something in Burton's arrow-straight posture and princely demeanor made her shut her mouth before voicing them.
Before she had time to further contemplate the amazing change in her son, the Princess put in her morning appearance. She looked terrible. Faint circles of blue rimmed her lovely eyes, and her skin seemed pale and drawn. Though clearly Leona had given much attention to her dress and hair arrangement this morning, she still was wan, and moved a bit stiffly.
The Queen's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the girl's condition. "Well, my dear. And how did we sleep last night?"
"Terribly, I fear, my Majesty." Her voice was quiet, well-modulated, respectful. Just the sort of countenance one might expect from a well brought up princess. "I tossed and turned all night. In truth I feel bruised from head to foot. See?"
Without a thought for modesty, the princess pulled up her lacy dressing gown, bent forward and showed her bruised and reddened bottom and thighs to the amazed monarch.
"I couldn't imagine what might have caused me so much discomfort in the night. So this morning, as soon as it was light, I looked to see what the huge bump in my bed might be, and I found this!" She fished around in the pocket of the silky robe and pulled out the single dried pea. "It's no wonder I am so bruised!" She handed the pea to the Queen, and shot a quick and wicked wink at Burton.
"Oh, my dear!" gushed the Queen. "You've made me the happiest woman on earth! You ARE a real princess after all!!!" And sotto voce to Burton, she added, "And the chick is LOADED, honey! I mean LOADED!"
Leona looked longingly at the man who had tamed her last night, and noted that he looked slimmer, taller. Burton looked back at her with gratitude for helping him find himself.
In the way of such things, greetings and gifts were exchanged between the two kingdoms. Deals were done, and concords were constructed. There would be a joining of Chlamydia and Helmsley, and from the marriage of the two lovers and the two kingdoms would emerge a world power that would hold sway for centuries to come.
Whenever Leona slipped back into her old harridan habits, Burton would warm her bared bottom till she remembered to be his winsome wife again. And if he forgot himself and publicly groped her tempting titties, she even gave him a taste of the birch as a reminder of his newfound more manly mein. Thus, Leona and Burton took their places as exemplars to the citizens of their rule, made lots of beautiful babies together, and christened lots of ships at state functions.
And naturally, dear reader, they lived happily ever after.