Razasha the Horny, Chapter 5 - White Elixirs and Waif Elations

[Zapan99]

Sensitive reader summary of last chapter’s ending:
The Slay Belles fought the five bandits led by the fell druid in the main hall of Delilah’s inn, while Razasha was trying on dresses upstairs with her. After managing to eliminate the thief, Aelith and the twins were ensnared by an entangle spell that left them unable to fight. Aelith was gagged and badly injured by the druid, before he ordered the brute of the gang to fetch the two women upstairs. Helped by a contingency spell that didn’t require her to speak, Aelith managed to wither the vines that neutralized them, but also inadvertently caused Razasha to revert to her natural orc form. Enraged by the traumatic events, Razasha killed the brute, while Frigg and Freya eliminated one of the other bandits, and maimed a second one. The druid was eliminated by Razasha, when a strange light coming from her scarab pendant caused his last spell to backfire. The last bandit, while maimed, managed to exit the inn by holding Delilah hostage. After she defended herself, the twins quickly emasculated him, before sparing his life as a warning to other potential aggressors. Grateful for their heroic deeds, Delilah asked the Slay Belles to stay with her a bit longer.

Author’s note:
This chapter’s new (and returning) characters are played by (in my mind's eye only, this is in no way endorsed by the performers mentioned here):

Delilah the innkeeper = Trisha Hershberger, specifically with her 2017 post-pregnancy voluptuous body.

King Dorian of Tedora = Joseph Gordon-Levitt, around age 20.

Court mage Meenah = Sofia Mina Delle Cave (Shiftymine on Twitch).

Counselor Kohlver = Patrick Wilson.

Princess Fidelia of Campania = Faith Nelson.

---

Razasha woke up in the small human-sized bed on the first floor of Gravel Ford inn, in the room she shared with her mistress Aelith. As she rolled on her side while stretching, the orc girl’s voluptuous breasts flopped on top of each other, her olive-colored nipples becoming erect at the contact of a colder spot on the straw mattress. Aelith was already up in the soft morning light, turning her back to her while trying to dress herself despite her injuries. Razasha winced at the sight of the bruises and scuffs that blemished the alabaster skin of the diminutive elf. “Mistress, you don’t have to do this alone, please let me help you.” Aelith smiled, turning the side of her face that could still see towards the languid green vixen. “What would I do without you, my dear Razasha?” said the sorcerer, readjusting the herbal cataplasm eyepatch that covered her still swollen right eye.

With all the gentleness her big green hands could afford, Razasha helped Aelith to put on her figure-hugging purple robes, then she delicately combed her flaxen hair, and finished helping her mistress by tying her sandals. Aelith looked like a tiny broken doll in the arms of the sculptural orc girl, and yet she never felt so safe in her long life. Taken by the moment, she leaned in against the unsuspecting Razasha and pressed her pouty lips against hers, ignoring the pain from her contusions. “Mhhh, Mistress please, be careful.” protested Razasha, visibly blushing. “What? I’m not scared of your big fangs, orc!” said Aelith, while playfully caressing her green round cheek. “Let’s get down with the others, mistress needs to eat to get better.” said Razasha, with a surprisingly assertive tone. “Yes mommy, you know what’s best mommy!” jested the elf, earning an embarrassed chuckle from her confused thrall. “You’re not wearing your dress, today?” asked the sorcerer while reaching for the door. “Ha-a, no. Miss Delilah is still stitching it up.” said Razasha, suddenly embarrassed to wear her usual skimpy leather outfit. “I’m sure she doesn’t mind the show, my dear.” said the elf seductively, before exiting the bedroom.

When Aelith and Razasha came into the main hall, it was to find Delilah nursing her daughter Lottie, seated at one of the round pinewood tables, while the dwarven twins were rummaging loudly in the kitchen, fixing themselves a copious breakfast.

“Good morning, young misses! I hope you rested well last night. Please excuse the mess, we were awaiting you to join us before starting to make more ruckuss.” Said the innkeeper, nodding at the jumbled pile of blood-soaked furniture in the corner of the room.

Razasha was almost immediately captivated by little Lottie, suckling peacefully at her mother’s ample bosom. Delilah abundantly leaked droplets of milk from her other swollen breast, proudly in view of everybody, plopped up as it was over the unlaced bodice of her yellow dress. Noticing the insistant look of the orc girl, the innkeeper looked down at her motherly chest and her well-fed daughter with a tender smile, saying “I suppose you don’t have babies of your own yet, miss Razasha?”

With a bright smile unabashedly showing her jutting fangs, Razasha proudly affirmed, “Oh, I took care of a great number of babes and younglings, back at my village. I loved them all as if they were my own, even if most of them were orphans entrusted to the old wives.” Then, gesturing at her own heavy breasts, she asked innocently, “Does it hurt, when they swell up with all that milk, miss Delilah?”

“Hurt? Well, not exactly, it’s more like pressure building up in them. You can always express the milk yourself, if it tingles too much.” demonstrated Delilah with a smirk, while pressing an abundant squirt of milk out of her available breast.

Aelith had to pinch her pouty lips to curb the urge she had to lap every last drop of Delilah’s milk, and couldn’t resist to dip her fingers in the few white droplets that landed on the table, pretending to wipe them off, while saying “You know, miss Delilah, I hummm… I could have some use for your, errr motherly abundance. You see, as a sorcerer-”

“You’re asking me for a quart of my milk to concoct a Healing Elixir, because your adventurer party lacks a dedicated cleric, is that it love?” asked Delilah, before grabbing an imposing earthenware pitcher from the next table, and placing it in front of her.

Looking positively baffled, Aelith had to remind herself of who she was speaking too, “Please accept my apologies, I forgot you must welcome seasoned adventurers all the time in your traveller’s inn. Sooo… what is your price for a quart?” said Aelith, already reaching for her bag.

“Now come on, miss Aelith! Don’t insult me asking for my fare. My milk, like the food and the rooms, are on the house. It is already very gracious of miss Freya and miss Frigg to help me with the cleaning and preparing breakfast, I will not ask anything more of your party considering the service you did my Lottie and me, that is my final word.” said Delilah, with a scold and a smile, wiping away her dribbling nipple with a clean handkerchief. “Care to help yourself at the tap? I already have my hands full, with Lottie and the pitcher.”

Aelith’s ears took a carmine coloration. The diminutive elf girl was so flustered her face turned beet red, while her dainty nipples raised little tents under her purple robes, looking like swollen bee stings. “I, why yes, of course. I shall… proceed to milk you, for magic purposes of course.”

“I’ll hold the pitcher for you, mistress!” said a very clueless Razasha, unable to detect the sexual tension rising between Aelith and Delilah. The innkeeper looked totally in control of her ripe femininity, like a domestic goddess whose overflowing mammaries totally overshadowed the meager charms of the small sorcerer. If Aelith could parade around busty lasses like Razasha without feeling insecure about herself, it was because she could always act like an overly debauched elf. Yet, next to the disarming goodness and plain motherly beauty of Delilah, she felt reduced to a bratty tomboy in dire need of a spanking.

“Go on then, Lottie already had her fill, you can take the rest.” said Delilah, while offering her heavy mammary adorned with delicate blue veins that looked like a roadmap leading to her swollen caramel nipple. To make matters even worse, that big goof of Razasha had scooched her sit right next to the innkeeper, gesturing at her mistress to hop onto her muscular green thighs to better milk their host. Aelith never felt so short and insignificant, but to be honest, she also rarely had felt so aroused.

Razasha gladly helped her mistress to reach Delilah’s engorged breasts, propping her up on her lap like one of the younglings she used to care for. She suddenly missed her former simple life at the orc encampment, up there in the grassy plateaus. The orc girl noticed how the pale hands of Aelith were shaking when she started to fondle and squeeze the innkeeper’s swollen mammary. Asking nervously where to press, she was instructed on how to form a C shape around the nipple and delicately squeeze and release. The first squirt of milk landed on Aelith’s throat, making her yelp, before she was able to aim better at the pitcher held by Razasha. Progressing around each sector of Delilah’s breast, she was able to drain almost each one of her individual milk ducts, getting lost in the voluptuousness of her motherly body, before the woman asked her to stop.

“Your pitcher is almost full, my girl. You did a good job!” said Delilah, looking intensely at the flustered elf. “Now, here’s your reward.” and without another word, she grabbed the back of Aelith’s head to bury her face deep in her bosom. “Suck out the last of it, I know that’s what you want.” said Delilah, with a hint of seduction. Aelith’s eyes rolled back in her head with pleasure, while both of her hands kneaded furiously at the soft mass of Delilah’s breast. She sucked all she could voraciously, drool mixed with milk starting to wet the front of her robes. Aelith was rubbing her small thighs together rhythmically, working herself to an explosive orgasm. Razasha’s scarab started to glow cerulean blue, transmitting the overwhelming bliss of her mistress to her, making the orc girl pant and moan. Aelith grabbed onto Razasha’s heaving left breast, that collided with Delilah’s right boob, smushing the green and pink orbs together. Sensing that mistress like thrall were about to reach bliss, Delilah let go of Aelith’s head still latched onto her, to turn Razasha’s chin towards her face. “And you, my big girl that was so courageous, here’s your reward too.” said Delilah languorously, before pressing her lips against hers, exploring her mouth with her tongue as she muffled the orgasmic moans of the duo with her motherly body.

Aelith fell backwards still in a daze, to rest against the soft green breasts of Razasha, gasping for air with the front of her robes completely wet. With a soft smile, Delilah tucked her handkerchief on the elf’s robes collar, like a napkin to hide her mess. The innkeeper separated from Razasha’s lips, a thin trickle of saliva linking them for a second, before saying “You take good care of your little girlfriend here, I’m going to check on our breakfast, alright love?” and with those words, Delilah shoved her heavy breasts back in her dress, before leaving with Lottie to join the dwarven twins in the kitchen.

The diminutive sorcerer smiled faintly in Razasha’s lap, totally spent after this surprising gratification. “Did-did you feel that too, my dear?” asked Aelith. “Oh yes, and when you’re that near mistress, it goes all the way up for me too.” said a very satisfied Razasha. “Really? That’s the kind of -ha- magic effect that calls for further studying.” jested the elf still out of breath, while caressing her thrall’s pendant.

Before long, Delilah and the twins were back with wood platters that sizzled of hot bacon, spice sausages and fried eggs. Delilah had supplemented this very typically dwarven breakfast with a more digestible choice of baked beans, sprout salad, strawberry jam and rye bread. “The presentation was miss Freya’s idea, I must say.” confided Delilah, while serving a platter where a big sausage on a bed of salad was propped up between two wobbling sunny side up eggs.

“Haha, it was worth the effort, just ta see this look on yer face, elf!” said Freya to a positively put off Aelith. Razasha was already biting on her juicy sausage and dipping rye bread in the punctured yolks of her eggs with an orc appetite, totally oblivious to the crude penis joke that annoyed her mistress. Nevertheless, the Slay Belles and their host enjoyed that restaurative meal, the five women devouring the phallic breakfast greedily, almost as if to exorcise the events of the previous evening.

After their copious meal, Aelith finally felt steady enough to attempt concocting her Healing Elixir. Her grimoire open on the table next to her, she brushed up on lacteous transmutation before proceeding to the complex incantation. Between her pale fingers, a luminous cat’s cradle formed in mid-air, resembling a crystalline lattice. “Razasha, my dear. Can you please pour the pitcher containing Delilah’s milk over this, very gently.” The orc girl tried her best to avoid spilling a single drop aside Aelith’s spell template. Her innocent hazel eyes marvelled at the sight of the still lukewarm creamy white liquid turning into a sparkling crystal, as it passed through the magic strands. When the last drop of milk dripped from the pitcher’s spout, it transformed into a frosted crystal stopper, that sealed the mouth of the ravishing magic vial now resting on the table. “Perfect, bottoms up!” said Aelith, immediately grabbing the Healing Elixir to open it and down its content in a couple of swigs.

The pale little elf was instantly haloed by a sparkling light, her flaxen hair floating about her as if fluttering in a gentle breeze, while the magic of the elixir took effect. Her scuffs and bruises faded until they disappeared, her cracked rib readjusted with a discrete snap, and the swelling on the right side of her face receded. “Whew, that always feels nice!” exclaimed Aelith, removing her eyepatch and stretching like a housecat.

“M-mistress? Is it supposed to do that too?” asked a blushing Razasha, pointing at the elf’s torso. The usually very modest breasts of the sorcerer had swelled enough to attain the volume of shapely apples, lovingly contoured by her figure-hugging purple robes. Those budding mounds were still comparatively much smaller than the mountains of flesh displayed by her colleagues, but their arrogant perkiness was definitely alluring.

Aelith quickly pressed her arms around her new chest, her perky apple boobs squished against her forearms, before cursing “Rhaaa, yes that can happen with milk-based potions. Sadly, it never lasts long.” with a vexed intonation.

“Ye mean like that time ye dated what’s-his-name da archer, and ye fake tits vanished right as he was coping a feel?” asked a very uncouth Frigg, to the general amusement of the girls.

“Please, she doesn’t need to know that!” blabbered a very crimson Aelith, hiding her face from her big green thrall. Razasha took both of her hands to put them above her heart, totally defusing the tantrum of her mistress.

“Mistress Aelith is pretty no matter what, her white boobies are always cute.” The naive orc girl was genuinely trying to help, but only reinforced the elf embarrassment.

“Oh gods, can’t you all just shut up, already!” said the beet-red sorcerer, while pressing her face against the lovingly padded green belly of her thrall, that towered over her mistress while providing a comical boob hat. What was that, just then? Suddenly thought Aelith, after feeling the presence of something black and fluttery, leaving its perch on the broken window sill bearing the marks of their fight, the night before. It must have been a crow, maybe a raven, but she was too distracted to pay proper attention. Yet, for some reason, that bird troubled her.

High in the sky above the canopy of oak trees that surrounded Gravel Ford inn, a strange bird flew. Twice the size of a gallows crow, with wings of starry darkness that flapped without any sound, it cawed with a strangely melancholic tone from its upturned shiny beak. The crow passed over a shady man, hunched over while bargaining for a steed with a horse groomer, increasingly upset about being mocked for his high-pitched voice. Flapping its silent wings, next it came near a windmill where three poor lads, sitting butt-naked in a drinking trough filled with fresh water, were berated by their father. Then, gaining altitude on a rising air current, it overpassed a grassland were a minotaur herd was trotting to the north, led by a cowardly white bull running with his big furry paws holding up his aching virility.

Many, many miles to the east, the strange bird glided over a great walled city, with banners of gold displaying an oak tree. The coat of arms of the old and winded Doric dynasty ruling over the kingdom of Tedora since its inception, described as such in the dusty treaties of the Academy of Heraldry: Or, an oak tree fructed and eradicated proper. Ams of Tedora. Weaving between the rooftops of the upper city, the melancholic crow arrived in view of the royal castle. Swiftly passing an imposing grey stone battlement, the bird initiated its ascension towards the highest tower of the dungeon, flapping its fuliginous wings in absolute silence.

When the dark volatile finally reached a small open stained glass window overlooking the whole city, its black talons clicked on the stone frame, before the bird croaked with a strange voice, “Metamorphosis” instantly turning into a starry cloud of smoke, from which emerged a completely naked dark elf woman. Her supple skin was of a deep mauve color, her hair like cascading silver. She had a triangular face with big expressive dark eyes like bottomless pits, high cheekbones and hollow cheeks. Her carmine lips had upturned corners, giving her a perpetual arrogant smirk, but her most defining feature was her nose. Upturned and so pointy you could swear it would prick your finger if you booped it. When the last tendrils of smoke dissipated around her body, she appeared clearly in the softened light of what looked to be a messy study room. Her impossible proportions somehow juxtaposed huge protruding breasts topped with puffy inverted fuschia nipples, a narrow waist that made her look like a wasp, and large child-bearing hips carrying a very rotund derriere. Despite that debauche of curves, her frame was delicate and almost petite, with thin racy legs looking like daggers as she walked elegantly towards a mirrored wardrobe, her delicate naked feet almost gliding above the cold flagstones.

Instead of dressing herself, the strange purple woman admired her naked body for several seconds, picking up her silver hair to tie them with a hairpin, revealing long elvish ears. Then, in guise of dress she conjured a dark starry cloud around her that coalesced into a long split front gown held up by thin shoulder straps, and with a flick of her left arm and shimmy of her shoulders, accessorized it with a sheer black open camisole frilled with raven feathers. The tip of her black toe nails tapped the floor three times, conjuring shimmering stiletto heels on her feet, that made her stand an inch taller. She turned around in her study, and looked for a particular jar, sitting on the shelf of a curiosity cabinet. Opening the glass lid and dipping her gracile hand with long black nails in the clear alcohol within, she produced a pickled human testicle.

Licking the cold surface of the orb, she started to nibble on the wrinkly epididymis, sucking its jellified content, while absentmindedly noting down details of her flight with a black quill on a ragged parchment. She said softly to herself, “Heh, just stupid adventurers.” before biting savagely on the dead gonad, that spilled some of its content in thick globs of pearly grey matter, that soon collected in the pit of her ample cleavage.

Suddenly a regal-sounding trumpet resonated, quite a few flights of stairs below, announcing some courtly event. “This early? Can’t those peasant wait their turn, dammit!” she pestered, while collecting scrolls and other strange trinkets in a small violet suede purse. Heavy footsteps resonated in the spiral staircase beyond her door. The shrill voice of a man manifested itself, accompanied with insistent hammering on the polished iron door that blocked his path. “Mage Meenah, this is unacceptable! Once more you are late to a royal audience, must I remind you that your duty as our court mage, is to assist his most beloved majesty with all matters pertaining to magic?” asked the posh voice, with an intonation full of disdain and pettiness.

Meenah the court mage furrowed her brow, already reaching the end of her very limited patience. With a strange croaking voice betraying a certain level of exasperation, she answered “Counselor Kohlver, do you really think it is wise to disturb a mage in her own laboratory? I’ll show up to the commoner’s audience when I’ll feel like it!”

After a few seconds of silence, the unbearable pounding on the door resumed, causing Meena to lose her temper and crush her testicular snack between her purple fingers, a gooey mess running down her tensed forearm. “One day, I’ll kill this weasel!” she said between her teeth, before reaching for the door at a supernatural speed that picked up the parchments and quills in a draft. Opening the heavy iron door like it was made of straw, she appeared beautifully terrifying to the portly pompous man in green court robes standing uneasy on her landing. “Counselor Kohlver, my dear and estimated colleague…” she said, while using the lapel of his robes to wipe a gooey substance, “...if you persist to infringe on my personal aisle of the castle, I’ll make sure to dissect you like a frog, to satisfy my scientific curiosity on how you can be so formidably annoying.” said Meenah, while simultaneously slamming the heavy iron door shut behind her, and lifting the gesticulating counselor up against the wall by squeezing his nutsack almost to the point of rupture. The middle-aged man, trembling in his ridiculous green court robes, could only open his mouth and gasp for air, looking comically like a fat bullfrog out of water. Finally, Meenah sighed and let go of the man’s junk, causing him to slump on the floor while holding his crotch. Without turning around, Meenah the court mage noted, “You’re the one running late after all, Kohlver.”

After regaining his breath and a semblance of dignity, the counselor managed to stand up gingerly, and while smelling the goo on his lapel he wrinkled his nose, before saying with a nervous voice “I hope this will not stain my robes! I’ll send you the bill, if I have to order a new one, you hear me?” to the absent court mage.

King Dorian was a dashing young man with a bright mind, a suave demeanor and a slender physique. His short black hair, steely gaze and cajoling smile were underlined by a sharp jaw, making him the heartthrob of the maidens of Tedora and beyond. Yet, despite the many opportunities of amorous escapades literally thrown at him, he remained chaste and pure with a remarquable discipline, vowing to preserve himself for his future bride. A feat of courtly love greatly vaunted by the clergy of the Radiant Light, and put in verses by all the troubadours travelling about Tedora. To his people, he was known as Dorian the pure, or Dorian the virtuous. Yet, because of his obstination to refuse marriage offers at the ripe age of 20 years old, king Dorian was starting to worry his people, and strained his diplomatic relations with the neighboring countries, displeased by his constant rebuttal of all the princesses they offered him to marry. For all these reasons, the young king was starting to earn disparaging nicknames abroad, like Dorian the flaccid, or Dorian the steer, that all mocked his apparent lack of virility.

As of now, seated on the old gilded throne of Tedora, on the great dais of the audience hall built by his illustrious ancestor Tedorius the First, the young king listened with a distracted ear to the plight of a delegation of border farmers, that recently had to suffer from a series of monster attacks.

“...And to make matters worse, your majesty, I just received news that a great herd of minotaurs fleeing the fire to the north have trampled our wheat harvest. I’m sure you understand that the taxes can’t possibly stay that high this year, your highness.” lamented a portly bald peasant with a big mustache, that looked like he had never been hungry a day in his life.

The young king Dorian shifted on his throne, adopting a more dignified posture when the mention of monsters roaming near the border finally convinced his alluring court mage to show up. Almost without realizing it, Dorian hands had wandered to his nether region, pulling at the strangely bouffant saroual pants he was wearing, almost as if the shimmering silk fabric of that odd garment was suddenly too tight around his crotch, now that Meenah had entered the room.

Still distracted by the curvy court mage, Dorian tried to improvise an answer, “Why errr yes, we are indeed very aware of the monster activity on our western border, that is why rewards were generously offered a hefty bounty to all the adventurers and rangers bringing proof of a catch.” the king now had a cocky smile, realizing he managed to answer without any mention of tax cuts.

The portly farmer didn’t accept that as a valid answer. Undeterred, his meek tone suddenly shifted for a more menacing growl. “Your majesty, please! I must warn you that the province of Quercus is on the brink of unrest. The wretched adventurers you dispatched are for the most part content with putting up false hunts and abuse our hospitality. Without a gesture from the crown, I cannot answer to the reaction of your subjects at the oncoming strife that menaces the realm. Must I remind you that our neighbors in Campania are more than eager to cross the border with their troops and take the matter in their own hands? This could very well mean war, if they decided to stay. War unless, your majesty, you consider the other boons Campania has to offer…”

“Ha! There we go, we didn’t have a surprise princess marital proposal since last week!” exclaimed counsellor Kohlver, with much arm-waving. Meenah stepped forward in defiance. With the king that pent-up, she thought, any peasant girl with big tits could become the new queen of Tedora and jeopardize her plans.

The small crowd of rich farmers and merchants gathered in the hall parted, to reveal the approach of a delicate hooded silhouette. Only her moss green ballet flats were visible under her ruddy travel cape, as she walked up the emblazoned carpet. When the princess reached the front of the delegation she removed her hood, revealing her long blonde hair tressed in a crown braid, the most lovely blue eyes and a ravishing smile on her luscious lips. She had the honest heart-shaped face of the mountain girls of Campania, with a small snub nose covered in discrete freckles that made her incredibly endearing. The portly farmer introduced her as, “Princess Fidelia of Campania, first daughter of king Spirus.” while travel banners bearing the arms of Campania were aptly unfurled by the secret delegation, in a patriotic display of red white and green, or as the decrepit scholars of the Academy of Heraldry would describe it: Gules with a silver mountain peak, two silver bells in cantons and a spruce eradicated vert on top. Arms of Campania.

The already seduced king Dorian soon had to cross his legs awkwardly to hide his arousal, when princess Fidelia untied the ribbons of her cape. Falling at her feet, the garment revealed her traditional short sleeved Campanian dress with a characteristic square décolletage and cinched waist that complimented her curvy physique. Her ample breasts spilled so much over the top of her blouse that they looked about to fall out and her curvy legs were easy to distinguish, outlined under a sheer and immaculate summer underskirt. Her red-trimmed dress, complete with a green leather belt and two silver jingle bells pinned on her bodice, made her look like the sensual embodiment of her stout-hearted mountainous homeland.

With praying hands shaking just below her heaving bosom, Fidelia started to plead, “For the sake of both of our people, beloved king Dorian, I’m imploring you! Let’s unite our houses in holy matrimony, so that this foolish border dispute can be put to rest, and Tedora like Campania may forever live in peace. Your majesty, my soul is yours if you will have me as wife and queen!” with each of her words, the little bells adorning the front of her dress jiggled in unison with her voluptuous milkmaid tits, providing a musical encouragement to the king’s raging erection.

The monarch of Tedora was struggling to speak, short of breath and his temple veins pulsing under his scalp, when his court mage interposed herself with a grand gesture of her long feathered sleeves. “Begone, all of you! You are a threat to our king’s health! His majesty needs to rest before thinking of answering any of your doleances. By my supreme authority of court mage, I declare this royal audience adjourned!” and with those words, she reached gracefully for an embroidered tassel rope fastened to the throne, her voluminous breasts almost slapping the flustered king across the face, before a gold-trimmed velvet curtain rolled down all around the dais, hiding them from view.

“This is an outrage!” yelled the princess, “I am an official envoy of Campania, how dare you take my promised away from me, you purple slag!” she added with a tone unbecoming of her rank. “Rhaaa, and take your hands off me, you pig!” she said to the fat farmer attempting to hold her back without groping any of her ample charms. The princess lifted her sheer dress before ramming her knee up the old man’s crotch, causing his rotund belly to flop as he immediately let her go with a whimper. Fidelia ran up the dais, only to be stopped by two royal guards crossing their halberds in front of her. “Dorian, I know you love me! I’ll set you free from this hag, I swear it on my family’s crest!” she said, while passionately grabbing the silver bells adorning her chest.

Instead of her beloved Dorian, the velvet curtain parted briefly to reveal Kohlver, the smarmy counselor. Taking good care to stay out of the furious princess legs reach, he started to maneuver in order to calm the delegation. “My dear Campanian friends and esteemed Quercus brothers, I can assure you our beloved king had to shorten this audience for health reasons only, rest assured this constitutes in no way a rebuttal or even a dismissal of your many valid concerns and doleances. And you, my ravishing princess Fidelia, I’m sure the king was positively delighted by your proposal, so let’s just give him a bit of time to reflect, shall we?”

“He needs to make up his mind before we all die!” yelled one of the Quercus farmers. “Make him take a wife, any wife for Radiant’s sake!” added another. “The king is a wuss!” dared to say a third in the back. Before things could degenerate further, more guards entered the hall and contained the angry delegation, before escorting them out.

Behind the curtain, the throne was already deserted when the princess had raised her voice. Pulling the king unceremoniously by the front of his silk pants, Meenah the court mage had the monarch escape by a secret passage hidden in the masonry of the back wall. By the flickering light of an oil lamp, the purple-skinned elf had slammed Dorian against the side of a tunnel hewn in the bedrock under the castle. “You found a way to send love letters to this alpine cow again, didn’t you Dory?” she said while pressing her hips provocatively against the king’s crotch.

Out of breath and clenching his teeth, king Dorian begged “Hgnnn! Please stop, hah, it hurts so much. I need to cum so bad, for the love of the Light, Meenah this is torture!” while his whole body was shaking.

The mage held him up firmly against the wall by his wrists, while asking, “Oh, so you really think you deserve to cum? You really feel like your shrivelled cocklet has earned the right to dribble its cursed seed? What about rewarding all my efforts to solve your little problem first? What about me, your faithful mage who tirelessly protects your shameful family secret, huh? What’s in it for me?” She said, while rotating her wide hips to dig her hard bone right into his aching manhood.

“Haaaa, please! I’ll do whatever you want!” begged the king, “I’ll double your research budget! I swear you’ll get crowds of adventurers for your monster hunts! Ha please, no more princesses, no marriage before you find the cure. Alright but just let me cum, just once.” his head hanging in shame, as he was totally owned by the churning sperm in his swollen gonads.

Meenah’s lips curled up in a devious smile of utter victory. “Now, this is what I like to hear, Dory. You see you can be a good boy when you put your mind to it, mhhh?” the seductive mage turned around in the narrow tunnel, and pinned the king against the wall, rubbing against him with her shapely derrière that bounced firmly against Dorian’s pelvis, forcing a grunt out of him. “So you’ll be a good boy and stop trying to see other girls? You’ll use the royal treasure to fund all my research so I can find a cure for your little problem, huh? You promise, yeahhh?” Dorian grunted louder each time, trying to resist giving his word to the unbearably sexy mage, until she took his hands from her hips to squeeze his palms flat against her huge squishy boobs.

The king felt the pressure build even more in his aching testicles and finally caved in to all of her demands, “Haaa, for the love of Radiant, YES, I swear it on my family’s crest, everything you want but let me cum, witch!” he said, with his legs trembling in his silk pants.

“Finally! You can cum now baby, come on, baby cum!” said Meenah with a deep sway of her hips. With those words, the shimmering silk pants of the king magically opened at the crotch, revealing a very erect and ridiculously small penis, throbbing miserably over an enlarged pair of aching testicles. Holding tight onto Meenah, he squirted many thick ropes of hot semen between her shapely thighs, spilling his seed on the dusty floor while moaning in pleasure and pain. His orgasm convulsions were so bad that the sexy mage had to extend her arms to avoid being pushed by the king against the opposite wall. As soon as his cathartic orgasm was over, the magic silk pants reformed their threads around his still dribbling cocklet, locking his manhood back in its magic prison. The king tried to reach for his cock and jerk out the last drops of his sperm before it was too late, but the cage was already shut, and he found only the bouffant silk under his fingers, preventing him from ever masturbating.

Mina separated her luscious body from the exhausted king, reaching seductively between her shapely thighs to scoop up a sample of his ejaculation she held up in the dim lantern light. “Nice and creamy, as a king’s semen should be.” she said, while judging the viscosity of his spunk between her delicate fingers, before ravenously licking them dry. Leaning against the ear of the king, with globs of his semen still glinting on her chin, she whispered, “Don’t worry majesty, I’m on the brink of a major discovery, regarding the cure for the Acorn of Tedora. But for now if you’ll excuse me, I have arrangements to make.” while dragging a finger below his belt, clearly insinuating this humiliating monicker designated his stubby micropenis.

Meenah walked down the secret tunnel with a seductive strut, leaving the spent king to his own device, as he slouched against the wall, sobbing softly in his own hands until his crown slipped from his brow and rolled in the dust.