Part 5: Triangle, The Alchemist's Illusions

Chapter 45: Imagination

The madame had said little more on the topic and Linza hadn’t pressed for more. She’d returned to her apartment earlier in the day than usual and she turned over those words. She was supposed to use her imagination? How?

Everything given probably meant that she was supposed to share how she felt. But she still didn’t know how she felt!

Nothing taken meant to not presume how Tanyth or Grun were feeling, but Linza felt that they’d been pretty clear. She was sure that clarification would help, but she didn’t know what to clarify until she knew how she felt.

Having fun seemed impossible until she sorted this out… but perhaps that was where she was going wrong.

So, she was supposed to have fun and use her imagination.

Well… She could think of one thing that fit that bill, at least.

Feeling a bit uninspired, Linza turned to the offerings of her past self, the growing collection of erotic scenes and story snippets that she’d been working on for the past few months.

Still feeling in an analytical mood, she started by editing a few of the newer pieces. 

Yet the words slipped under the surface of the mind, familiar and yet forgotten as they were, and stirred the same feelings that had inspired them.

Still, she kept to her task. It was a strategy, a like corking wine while it fermented. She let the flavors evolve, the pressure build.

She didn’t hurry herself. She needed to marinate.

An hour and then another easily slid by.

And as she checked the clock and realized that she really ought to be getting to bed, her heart thudded in her ears and her sex ached and her small clothes were totally soaked.

She slipped between her sheets and then slipped her fingers between her own folds.

Her heat flared with the sort of sudden rapture only possible through this level of anticipation. And that heat melted her inhibitions like wax inside a furnace. She plunged into the depths of her subconscious imaginings, finally unafraid of what she might find.

Grun was there first. He was dressed as he had been at their dinner, trying to look bold, yet still blushing. She wrapped her arms around him from behind—he melted under her fingertips. Then he overtook her and filled her with his girth.

Then, Tanyth. All pastels and flowing. Never really on the top, never really on the bottom. A dance of equal partners. Her touching herself, them touching themselves. Them in her mouth, her under their tongue.

Grun, steady and forceful as a drum line.

Tanyth, light and warbling like a melody.

She brought the comparison closer, switched back and forth more rapidly.

Riding Grun and licking Tanyth.

Tanyth wrapped around her and Grun inside of her.

Grun moaning and Tanyth gasping.

Until it was all at once, the steady drumbeat pounding through her and the melody like air all around.

Linza clawed at her sheets as her back curled and her body melted into pleasure. There was the gasping climb, the peak of sensation, the groaning echoes and the lingering afterglow.

And then finally, as the tide came in and the waves carried her out into an ocean of rest, she finally knew what she wanted.

Part 4: The Convention, The Black Box

Chapter 22: A New Hobby

John and Felix had been texting, and Felix had convinced John to start writing down his experiences with the Black Box so far. ‘Writing down his experiences’ here meaning ‘writing porn’. 

He had nervously shared a first short bit with Felix, just pasting it into their text chat. Felix had responded after a few minutes with just the ‘hot’ emoji and then called. 

Before John could even say ‘what’s up?’ Felix said, “So you want to have phone sex, like, right now?”

John did, very much so, and as soon as Felix started moaning and panting into the phone, John understood why phone sex was a thing. It was great if sound turned you on, and it was even better to know that Felix was tending to an arousal that John himself had caused. What John always loved about writing was the chance to move somebody to intense emotion, and he’d never considered how well porn fit that bill. 

“I like that my writing got you like this,” John panted, after an especially salacious moan from Felix. 

“Okay good because… your writing is about to make me come… so fucking ha—ah, aaaaah!”

John imagined Felix spurting ropes of cum and even though he hadn’t been edging, the sound of Felix’s climax sent John into his own, before he even had a chance to grab a tissue.

They remained on the phone, quiet, for a minute. 

“I am so looking forward to chapter two. I’m actually late to a thing, but I wasn’t gonna make it out the door otherwise. So I’ll talk to you soon. Fortnite later?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Felix hung up, and John sat down at his actual keyboard to type out more, suddenly feeling much more confident. The massive hit of endorphins and arousal probably didn’t hurt. He bet it lowered inhibitions, actually. He’d have to ask Arya about that later.

Over the next few days, John kept at it, writing down his memories with Arya, and even his side of events with Felix. Felix returned the favor, and John found reading about himself through Felix’s eyes to be incredibly intimate and arousing. Felix called him the ‘sexy CEO’ and ‘Johnny boy’ throughout, and gave loving attention to aspects of his appearance that John had never even noticed, and actually some that he disliked about himself. 

And the exchange of pornographic writing lead to more phone sex. A lot of it. 

After one such session, in the warm afterglow, John said, “I just want to tell you… I really love this. I love our arrangement. I love you. I promise I’m not asking for more or anything… I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Aw, I love you too, John. Really. You’re a great guy and a great writer. Not to presume, but if you want relationshippy stuff, you should go out and try to meet people. It’s a Gacha game out there, sometimes you get lucky and sometimes you don’t, but there’s never a lack of dopamine hits, y’know?”

John laughed aloud, comforted that Felix had understood what he was trying to say. “I never thought of it that way, but I like that.”

“Just promise you’ll never stop writing porn, mkay?”

“I will do my best.”

John did as he promised, and found that once he had documented all of his actual experiences, his mind wandered even more freely about what they could do next. 

He realized that he had really just seen the tip of the iceberg of what they could do together. It had been what he needed, for his own journey, to generally let Arya take the lead and to treat her more like a human. 

But he realized that he had not yet tried out her ability to render live, custom, immersive porn to full use.

Just as she could change the size of his dick, he was sure that she could change other aspects of his appearance. She could make him more masculine or more feminine, even manifest a fursona. 

She’d mentioned cum inflation prior, and though that was not John’s cup of tea, it was such a common fetish that he was sure she had all sorts of scenarios prepared. 

John imagined that she could make giant or delicate feet for foot fetishes, or simulate an outdoor scene for those excited by public sex, conjure onlookers for an exposure fetish, summon a full-on orgy, and so on. Bukakke, dragon dick, aphrodisiacs, it was all on the table, and sometimes even literally.

John was sure that no matter the fetish, the Black Box could make it happen, though some might just require more calibration than others. That, though, gave him pause. Any fetish… well, that included the not-so-good. Rape. Scenarios involving children. Surely, the Black Box wouldn’t… He’d have to ask Arya later. It seemed important, for both himself and the review, to know how such a thing would be handled.

John, for his part, spent a moment feeling a bit outclassed by his own imagination. Thinking of all the fetishes that he could have made the list of fetishes that he did have seem… inadequate. But, he remembered what Arya had said before. There was no such thing as too vanilla. He was just… himself. No more and no less. He liked what he liked. And that was alright.

And he had a few more ideas for smut itching in his fingertips. His worries faded as he started to write, though the question he had for Arya lingered.

Part 4: The Convention, The Black Box

Chapter 20: Plane Ride

John liked these evening flights for longer trips because he could usually sleep decently on them, and then he didn’t feel like he was losing half a day.

He had a sleep pillow and a blanket, both which stashed cleverly away in his backpack (it had been a project on Kickstarter that he’d funded a few years back) and though he would have loved to snuggle up and doze off, both the pillow and the blanket remained piled in his lap.

Because he had an erection. Again.

John tried to distract himself with his phone, but he clicked back over to Felix’s message, would have been fun, and his mind wandered to what that fun could be. Then, he tried opening a particularly addicting app game, but he found himself just thinking of Arya and ways that she’d turn the app game into a sex game too.

So, he resolved to just try and get some sleep, but as he dozed off his brain wasted no time concocting sex dreams. He kept waking up, aware of his painfully throbbing erection and the way that his pre-cum was dampening his boxers.

Would this be better or just so, so much worse with a cock cage? He was tempted to browse for those on the in-flight Wi-Fi, but he didn’t want to give his neighbors cause for concern.

His bladder was full, but as the unbidden fantasy of just absolutely cumming his mind out in the little plane bathroom appeared in his mind, it sort of solved the problem in that John was sure that he couldn’t pee even if he tried.

He was also sure that he did not want to parade past an entire plane with his poorly hidden erection at eye-height. So, he waited it out, fitfully wavering in and out of sex dreams for the rest of the flight.

As the plane landed and the moments of weightlessness that came with the turbulence gave him waves of strange pleasure and pain through his bladder and shaft, John marveled at just what a hard time he was having. Previously, he’d had sex once or twice a week and occasionally masturbated in between, but going four days without release was something that he’d done plenty of times before. 

Though, those other times, he hadn’t spent all four days shaking the bottle of soda, so to speak. If he went that long in the past, it was because whatever was happening in his life was distinctly un-sexy. Whereas he’d just had one of the funnest, sexiest weekends of his life. Arya was going to be so proud. And he was proud of himself.

By the time the plane landed and taxied, John’s bladder hurt so much that it quelled his erection, and he made his way off of the plane and to his car without embarrassment.

He paused to text Felix before he set out.

Landed safe. Tried to sleep. Lots of sex dreams.

ty for the great time


Felix’s reply pinged up on the screen as John pulled out of the parking garage.

my pleasure


Meaning: ‘Good luck, have fun’. And oh, he was going to, just as soon as he got home.

Part 4: The Convention, The Black Box

Chapter 15: His Own Game

It was time for the annual major gaming convention, which meant that John would be out of town for a long weekend, put up in a hotel by his boss.

Since he hadn’t yet finished the black box review, it was the first time in years that he didn’t have a specific assignment at the convention.

He found himself feeling more eager and playful than ever as he walked the convention halls, trying out this game and that one, finding some that he liked and some that he didn’t.

He missed Arya in a surprisingly non-sexual way, but he also knew she’d want him to have fun, so he focused on the convention.

The first night, John masturbated in his hotel room, in part to assure himself that he still could without Arya.

And wow, he could indeed. It was a better solo session than he’d ever had before Arya. Teasing himself and building in waves had become habit. That, and he had so many new memories to pull from. He realized after he finished that he hadn’t even thought to pull up porn.

In his afterglow, he thought about what he’d say to Arya. ‘I touched myself at the thought of you.’ She’d like that. He’d never realized before that masturbation could be so… cooperative.

But his mind was getting more playful, and he thought of something else he could say. ‘I waited for you. God, I’m so full, I’m going to burst!’

His skin prickled with heat, his just-spent balls twitched, and John knew he’d come upon a good idea.

Now that he’d proved that he could masturbate without Arya there, he was eager to prove whether he could not.

The next day, he stayed out on the exhibit floor longer than he would have otherwise, intent on maximizing his experience with the convention and minimizing the amount of time he would spend in his room before he fell asleep.

It worked, and he passed out as soon as his head hit the pillow. Though, the next morning he awoke with a throbbing erection, not a small amount of pre-cum on his tip and the sheets, and a dream of Arya fading out of memory like sand through his fingers.

With a groan and a deep, cleansing breath, John stood and got dressed and returned to the convention.

As he browsed, he considered the rules of his game. He had resolved not to orgasm again until be returned home, but he was allowed to touch himself, he decided. It might make averting orgasm more difficult, but as Arya had taught him, that was half the fun. It wasn’t denial if you didn’t want it. Really badly.

He stole a few moments of indulgence on his next bathroom break, and the next one, and then even in a changing room as he tried on a branded shirt for one of his favorite games from the prior year.

As he climbed a quiet stairwell at the back of the convention center, he thought about touching himself there. But, he considered what Arya had been teaching him. He wasn’t ashamed at the idea of being caught — it was thrilling, actually! But, he couldn’t guarantee that whoever caught him would consent to seeing him touch himself, and so it would be unkind to do so.

John had never before been able to articulate why some kinds of public sex seemed hot, and others gross, and he realized then that consent made a big difference.

He found a balcony that looked out over the city, sidled up to it and leaned over, hips against the railing, and let himself think of Arya.

At this angle, his jeans would appropriately disguise his erection, which grew and throbbed and ached. He looked out over the city and daydreamed without restraint, gripping the railing to steel his willpower, and savoring the delicious torture of his trapped dick.

To anyone walking by, he was perhaps just introspecting and maybe a bit afraid of heights. Public erection, more so than public masturbation, afforded him thrill without violating anyone else’s consent.

The hard part, of course (other than his dick) was diminishing that erection before he had to go anywhere else. John took deep breaths and thought of the games he wanted to try next, ones he might request to review on pre-release, now that he was building the confidence to tell his boss that he was a good writer and he wanted to review good games, not shitty ones.

Once his erection had abated, John returned to the exhibition hall. It was so large that he hadn’t made it through the whole place even with his long day, and as he came around a corner, he saw a tiny stall squeezed into a far corner that made his heart jump.

It had a matte black sign with abstract smoke and the table was covered in black velvet that hung down to the floor. On the table were hundreds of tiny black boxes with little tags that said in gold leaf, ‘open me!’

There was a man sitting behind the table, slender with a clean-shaven face, wearing a black crop top and jeans. He made intense, beckoning, wordless eye-contact with passers by. Most seemed drawn in and silently grabbed one of the boxes or murmured ‘are these free?’ before scurrying off again.

John approached and picked up one of the boxes, which looked like it could fit a hotel shampoo bottle. The thick paper was familiar in his fingers. He resumed eye contact with the other man.

“Do you work for the studio?” John asked.

“The studio?” The other man’s voice had a warm energy.

“Or the publishers, for the black box?” John hoped his tone sounded more conversational than intense.

“Oh, no. Well, kinda. They hired me for the weekend to run this table.”

“Oh. Huh.” Usually, indie game developers loved the face time. Meet the fans, all that. But, this sort of mysterious and sensual experience was right on brand. Anticipation, not answers. Curiosity, not certainty. John brushed his fingertips on the velvet. It was real, not that polyester stuff.

“Do you?” asked the other man.

“What?” John said.

“Do you work for the studio?”

“Oh, no. I’m reviewing an advance copy of the game.”

“So it IS a game!”

“Wait, I thought they hired you?”

“They did, they just didn’t tell me a damn thing other than to make sure there were enough of these on the table.” He gestured to the small black boxes. “It’s a sex game, isn’t it?”

John hesitated, realizing now how reductive his own initial assessment of ‘porn game’ now seemed, but he nodded. “How’d you figure?”

The man held up one of the little black boxes and shook it. “These have teeny bottles of lube inside. Nice stuff, too.”

John marveled, for a moment, at the bizarre yet probably effective marketing strategy. It certainty stood out, even in this hall full of flashing screens and flashy branding.

“You gotta tell me about the game,” the man said.

“I’m… not sure how much I can say.”

“Awww, how come? Isn’t it good hype marketing anyway?”

John was actually pretty sure he hadn’t signed any non-disclosure agreements or anything, come to think of it. He’d been talking to Ayra so much, he found himself giving the honest answer before he realized it might sound inappropriate. “Well, mostly because I’m not trying to show the whole convention hall my erection.”

“Oh!” the man said, nonplussed. “I can help with that. Here.”

He cleared a couple of boxes off of the folding chair that was next to him, and patted it. John squeezed between tables and took a seat, and the man handed him one of the boxes. The top was already cut, and it was full of more of the tiny black boxes.

“So now you can tell me?” he said.

“I’m impressed by how nonchalant you are about this,” John said.

“Oh, well. I’m a sex worker, so. All in a day’s work.”

A few months ago, John would have reacted pretty strongly to that revelation, all sorts of stereotypes coming to mind, but he was pleasantly surprised that they didn’t. He still wasn’t quite sure how to react, but he figured he’d treat it as he’d treat any other person’s job. “I’ll be especially curious how you feel about a game like this, then.”

The other man’s eager attention put John at ease. Though John hadn’t quite figured out what he was going to put in his review, he was able to ramble through and not lose the other man’s attention. Sure enough, as soon as he started thinking of Arya and remember their time together, his body was flushed with warm arousal and his erection fought with the inside of his jeans.

Passers by still came for their free samples, and occasionally they caught the other man’s attention. He gave mysterious answers from a script that he had taped to the back side of the table. When folks asked about the game, they were told that it was in the box, and they’d have to take it home to find out. He then restocked the table from the box on John’s lap.

In rambling stops and starts, John finished telling the other man his story, up to and including his current game.

“Ooooh, that’s hot,” the other man said. “No wonder you… needed a box.”

John laughed wryly. “I did indeed. So… what do you think?”

“I think it sounds more like sex therapy than porn.”

“That’s actually… yeah, really accurate. I hadn’t thought to say it that way — I’m going to have to use that in the review.” John fished out his notebook from his pocket. “I wouldn’t want to pretend I came up with that, though. Any interest in being featured? I can also quote you anonymously, and either way if you give me your name and email I can send you an advance draft.”

The other man grinned. “That’s a pretty slick way to ask for someone’s number.”

“Oh!” John said. He was blushing. He wouldn’t have considered himself anything but heterosexual, before. Maybe the lingering arousal from telling his story was making him feel more receptive than usual. “I… want to be straightforward that I was just thinking about the article but… um, I wouldn’t be opposed to…” John’s brain stalled out. He blinked.

“Name’s Felix.” He rattled off the rest of his contact information, and John jotted it down. “I for sure want to see an advance draft. That’s gonna be an… interesting review. Like, if you wrote down what you just told me… haha, that’s smut, that’s not a review.”

“I know!” John said. “I’m not sure how to be specific without…”

“Without writing porn.”


“That is quite the predicament,” Felix said. “Just like how…” He reached into the box on John’s lap, which was now nearly empty. He drummed his fingers on the cardboard that was right above John’s crotch, sending sparks up John’s painfully restrained erection. 

John shuddered. 

Felix continued, “The last few are always so hard to get out of the box…”

Part 2: On the Road, The Dragon's Tower

Chapter 8: Riding

The day of riding with Pasco and crew out from under the shadow of her tower had been absolute torture. First, Pasco had given her the choice of riding a horse by herself, or sharing his. Of course she had wanted to share his but she would last all of about five minutes that way, so she’d been forced to pretend to be demure and request her own horse. She’d then been given Sendia’s horse, and slender Sendia rode in front of Missa, Missa’s breasts bouncing at the horse’s rhythm, her nipples brushing Sendia’s back, and Ada swore they were both really fucking enjoying it.

And of all things, horseback riding. The classic female sexual awakening. The forbidden fruit of straddling the saddle. The royal folk said polite women only rode side-saddle because it looked more elegant, but Ada knew. It as because they saw how fucking happy all those women looked, straddling the saddle, rubbing in the seat as they galloped off into the field, high on freedom.

Pasco and crew had even offered for her to be topless, if that would make her more comfortable, and of course it would. But the thought of him, of Pasco, seeing her nakedness, admiring it, taking it in — nope, that would be bad. Ungood. It would be impossible to contain herself.

Of course, she spent the entire day seeing his partial nakedness, admiring it, taking it in. The way his skin rippled over the muscles of his back like the ocean she imagined. His long hair tied at the crown of his head and flowing out behind him, just like a horse’s tail. The smell of his sweat, mingling with the others’ and the horses though distinctly his, the musk and hint of cedar. The black, banded tattoos up his arm. Some were simple and bold, others fine designs, and he had more than any of the others. Did they mean something? Were they stories? Victories? Battles won? Lovers taken?

Ada had shifted in her saddle all day, side-saddle until her back hurt, straddling until she was on the edge, then back to side-saddle, trying desperately to be uncomfortable.

She tried to focus on her horse. Her actual horse. Not the fantasy of a man who had been turned into a horse by a witch, but still had all his man’s thoughts and needs and importantly consent and had come to her for help relieving the urges of his giant horse dick…

No her actual, animal, non-sapient, non-consenting horse. That, at least, she could focus on and be somewhat less aroused. Horses wanted to be brushed. Fed carrots. Allowed to graze. She tuned in to her memories of learning how to ride horses and tried to understand this horse’s gait, its temperament and personality.

What did Pasco like? What did he want? What were his memories of learning to ride horses? What was his gait, his rhythm, his temperament and personality?

That night, Ada lay awake in her bedroll. It took all her willpower to not masturbate.

It was going to be a long night.

Part 1: The Beginning, The Dragon's Tower

Chapter 7: From the West

Only a couple of days later, another group appeared heading towards the tower. However, Ada did not notice them until they were quite close because they were coming from the West.

The West: from which no interloper or traveler had come for decades, the very reason this tower was built, the direction of the nearest ocean, the mysterious and captivating West.

She did not usually check in that direction, but she was glad she had. She arranged herself at the biggest window in the tower, which had been built for this exact purpose, and she watched them. Too eager and nervous to wait for them to get much closer, Ada scurried around for her spyglass which she’d left near one of the southern windows but knocked aside in a lust-addled trip downstairs, and finally returned to the western window for a closer look.

It had looked like they were wearing strange armor, but as Ada lifted the spyglass, she realized that they weren’t wearing anything at all.

There were five of them, each riding a horse, each completely shirtless, though they did wear trousers.

One had a broad chest and narrow waist, another was thicker throughout, two had breasts and ample curves, and the last had a lanky, athletic build.

She watched, unable to do anything else, as they grew closer and closer and came more clearly into view.

They were all ochre and bronze like they spent long days in the sun, some with darker hair and some with lighter, each with bold black tattoos ringing their arms. The two broad-chested ones had beards and long hair, the other three had clean faces. Two of those had long hair, but one of the ones with breasts kept theirs short. Two men and three women?

Their horses weren’t entirely normal either. What had at first appeared to be ornate saddle blankets were actually scales, tealish and running down the fronts of the horses’ faces and across their backs. One of Ada’s books on the ocean had hinted at this — these were a cross-breed of horse and hippocampus!

As intrigued as she was by everything about this group, her eyes kept drifting back to the man at the front. He was smaller than the other man but still surely taller and broader than Ada. He had a medium-length beard and his long, black hair was tied up at the crown of his head and flowed behind him like a midnight waterfall. Even from this distance, Ada could clearly see the muscles of his chest and arms, which rippled like ocean waves.

She was just about ready to swoon. Her arousal was rising to meet the beautiful, mysterious visitors. Ada fought to keep focused.

So, these were folks from the sea? Were they descendents of the legendary marauders? Or had the western politics changed in the intervening years?

Ada sputtered around the tower. What to do? Make them dinner? Pretend to be asleep? Pretend to be tied up? What should she say when they asked about the dragon? Would they even know about the dragon? Why were they here?

Ada had plenty of plans for how to deal with people – but none of them involved actually talking to them.

They were nearly at the bottom of the tower.

Ada looked down. She was still totally naked. Well, if nothing else, she was going to get dressed. Her sex ached for attention, as if the very fact that she knew that it was not the right time to be touching herself was exactly what made her want to touch herself. But she couldn’t exactly greet these visitors as a dragon, could she? Or should she?

Ada’s thoughts started to melt into a lecherous haze and her hand crept towards her aching desire as she thought that maybe it was bet to be a dragon after all, given that the visitors could be dangerous…

A firm knock at the front door interrupted her thoughts and made the decision for her.

“Um. Coming!” she yelled. She wished that she were coming, but instead she hastily threw on her frock, neglecting any undergarments, scurried down the stairs, and clumsily unbolted the door. 

And there they were, the five sea folk standing in front of her, shirtless, all wearing black trousers, their scaled horses standing loyally behind, sniffing at the grass.

“Hello,” Ada said. She gulped.

She tried to look evenly across them but her eyes were pulled irresistibly to the man at the front. What she had not been able to see from the spyglass was that he had kind grey eyes that crinkled as he smiled at her. Ada thought the floor might have dropped out from under her because she felt like she was falling

“Hello,” he said. “I… heard you have a dragon problem?” His voice was rich and warm, a slight lilting accent that sent quivers down Ada’s spine.

“Um, yes,” was all she could say.

“I have to, um, ask, since it’s important tactically — is there really a dragon?” He glanced around the space inside, eyes casting up towards the staircase behind her.

Ada flushed bright red. She squeaked something resembling a “yes”.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean to doubt you,” he said quickly, truly apologizing. “It’s just, I was shocked to not see it on the way in. The dragons where I come from make themselves known, with no prejudice. I know this land can be fond of their fairy tales, so I wanted to be sure.”

“Yes, indeed, usually Iiiiiiiii, it does that, but, um, it’s asleep. And you have miraculous timing, good, um, well, how would you be called?” She wanted to hear his name, to burn it into her memory, to write it on her skin. Gods, when did she become such a helpless romantic?

“I’m ser Pasco. This is ser Forte,” the larger one, “Mam Missa,” the long-haired curvy one, “Mam Teoda,” the short-haired curvy one, “and Mam Sendia,” the slender one with long hair. She had no breasts to speak of, but a feminine face and a perky step.

“And I’m mam Ada,” Ada said.

“Nice to meet you, Ada,” Pasco said.

The way he said her name. Ada. Not ‘Your Majesty’. Not ‘Your Royal Highness’. Just, Ada. He turned her name into a song.

“N-nice to meet all of you,” she stammered as she realized their eyes were all on her. She’d forgotten all their names, except for his. Pasco. But, looking to them instead of him hardly solved her problem. The other man was thick, viscerally masculine. The two curvier women looked quite different from each other and were both a bit taller than Ada so that their large breasts were at her eye level and gods she just wanted to touch them. And the slender woman with the flat chest had such a pretty face, Ada just wanted to kiss her.

“May… we rescue you now?” Pasco said. “If our timing has indeed been miraculous then I would hate to press our luck.”

I can think of something else to press, Ada thought, imaging her hand on his trousers, his thigh between her legs.

Oh this is bad. She was a total mess. She was sweating, her heart was pounding, her arousal was aching. But what would they do if she turned into a dragon in front of them?! Well, she could probably escape, but she wanted very much to go wherever they were going, to see wherever it was that they had come from, to learn why ever it was that people from the West, of all places, had come to her tower.

“Rescue sounds… good,” she said. “Let me just… um, grab some things real quick. You can come right in.” She wanted to grab his dick and have him come right in her. Ada was hearing innuendo in her own words. What a mess. And she turned to see that the tower, too, was a total mess. The chairs were shredded, there was a streak of dragon slick on the floor that had not entirely dried from the day prior, and shed scales, and clumps of mud, and claw marks.

If they noticed the disarray, they didn’t say anything. Perhaps they assumed that the dragon had prowled into the tower after her and that it might be a frightening topic for her.

“Is there time?” Pasco asked as he and the other four stepped inside.

“Y-yes, the dragon… sleeps in a cave. It should be… quiet for a bit.” It wasn’t actually a lie if you permitted the metaphor that Ada’s quivering sex was the cave. The dragon surely did lie in wait, right inside.

Ada jogged up to her room and gathered her favorite books. She was sorely tempted to rub one out — well, rub two out in rapid succession — to provide herself some relief before she descended again, but she dare not risk the apparent arrival of the dragon. 

She was sure that Pasco would charge up and spear her, though her logic wasn’t quite right because her scales were impenetrable. Her expectation of penetration was likely more about the penis-in-vagina variety.

With her dearest books stacked in her arms, Ada took a moment to evaluate the small room where she had slept for these past six months. She felt more fondly towards the bare little space than she ever had to any of her lavish chambers or plush beds.

Loathe as she was to leave all the other books behind, she knew that they would want her to go out and have the kind of adventure that their pages described.

Ada took a deep breath, clutched her books to her chest, steeled her will, and stepped outside.

Part 1: The Beginning, The Dragon's Tower

Chapter 6: Snake in the Grass

Ada had discovered and then confirmed and confirmed and yet again reaffirmed exactly how her little ‘curse’ worked.

In the end, it was simple. If she orgasmed as a human, she became a dragon. If she orgasmed as a dragon, she became a human again. 

In her glee, she had not been particularly careful about flying around in the daytime. Within a couple weeks of the witch’s death, her father had sent a messenger.

Ada had seen him from afar, when he was still nearly a day’s travel away. He was an uncertain youth on a chestnut horse. 

She watched as he approached, staying out of sight. 

Even though she had expected it, the sound of his fist thudding against the bolted door startled her. 

She called out to him to say that she was alright, that the witch was with her, but that she had learned her lesson and was not allowed any visitors.

He had insisted upon seeing her and she had waved at him out of an upper window, and he had reluctantly set off again.

Two weeks after that, a band of knights had appeared. Based off their declarations at the front door, they had come to rescue her.

It all seemed a bit cute to her, now. 

There was no way Ada could go back to the castle, even if she wanted to. She was far from a hideous beast, but her father would likely order her killed on the spot if he learned the truth of her curse.

And, helpfully, the idea of turning into a dragon and scaring off all the knights had really turned Ada on, so she did just that.

This encounter had lent total validity to the rumors of the dragon. Another band of knights came, then another and another. Not just from Ada’s kingdom, but from neighbors as well. There were even a few banners that she had never seen before.

Ada thought the whole thing was brilliantly ironic in a number of ways. Her father had shipped her off to the tower to force her to be chaste, and now he was intentionally sending eligible young men her way? Ridiculous! Though apparently, these men actually wanted to marry her, just because they thought she’d been trapped by a dragon.

What bizarre people.

Ada, for her part, thought it was great fun to finally show those people just what she thought of them, as she sent them screaming and pissing themselves and scurrying back home.

Early summer turned to late summer, and late summer into fall, and in one of the last golden days of autumn, Ada sat in an upper window of the tower, looking out towards the eastern road. Sure enough, a band of knights were making their way towards her.

She leaned out and waved a red cloth at them, which she had learned encouraged them to hurry to her all the faster.

They were still far enough off that all they could see would be the red flag, and so they could not also see that she sat in the window, leaning out into the sun, totally naked. She spent most of her days naked now. This was partly because her draconic transformation shredded her clothes and partly because she just enjoyed being naked.

If only those proper little knights knew that they had spurred their horses to full gallop towards a salaciously naked woman, and that before they arrived she would become the very dragon they intended to face, and she would leave them all fleeing in fear.

Gods, all of it got her so worked up. As she tucked the red cloth into the edge of the window and settled back onto the sun-warmed stone, her mind wandered. She thought about really showing them, not just these knights, but the whole kingdom. She could let them ‘rescue’ her, take her back to their castle. At whatever overly self-aggrandizing feast that they threw, she’d show them just what she thought about them. She’d cut them all down a notch or ten.

Oh, they wanted to complain at the sharpness of her tongue? She would show them just how sharp a tongue could be.

Ada’s arousal throbbed in her hips and legs, but she didn’t touch herself yet. She liked to let it build. But also, she’d learned the last time that if she started masturbating in the window she had a hard time stopping, and she’d actually gotten stuck with her front half outside of the window and her back half inside. She’d had to rub herself on the stairs to transform back.

So, this time, Ada drifted down the abused staircase and draped herself sideways across one of the tattered fireside chairs.

As she sunk down into the chair, her mind sunk back down into her fantasy. Yes, she’d tell them just what she thought and then she’d show them just what she was. She’d crush all their cakes between her claws and then she’d swipe at them, sending the cakes tumbling left and right. Those ‘polite’ folk would be in such a dilemma whether to scream about their near-death or complain that they had frosting on them.

Ada finally let her hand drift over her labia, and she was already wet and swollen.

Oh yes, today would be a good day. She dragged her fingers up between her labia, teasing, slow. That made her shiver and moan.

She didn’t have to be quiet here.

She nestled into the chair and found a rhythm with her hand, her other thumb brushing over her bare nipple, which had grown stiff at her arousal and the cooler air within the tower.

Ada panted and whimpered as her anticipation grew.

Yes, she would destroy their party and then make her way to the castle, folks running in her wake. Maybe a trembling guard would try to stand in her way but he’d show his true loyalty when she’d roar in his face and the force of it would send him trembling to his knees.

Then she’d rip the throne room’s doors off its hinges and she would march up to that throne. The castle staff would gather in hushed anxiety at the open doors, too curious to run all the way away.

And she would take that throne for herself. She would fuck herself, right on that throne, right in front of them all. Rub the scales of her dragon’s sex on it, leaking her thick wetness all over it.

“See?” she would say, her first words of the night. They’d all suddenly realize that she was not some feral beast, but that she knew exactly what she was doing. “See, this is what I think of your throne. To me, it’s a goddamn sex toy.

In her mind, Ada climaxed humping the throne and in her body, she climaxed groping a breast with her back arched and her hand running circles across her labia and clit.

As Ada’s pleasure blossomed, she screamed so loudly she knew the knights would hear. When they heard her they would no doubt quicken their pace, racing towards their fate, and that pleased her all the more.

Ada took in a long, long gasp, as if drawing all the air in the whole tower inside of her. The heat spread fast to her head, her fingertips, her toes. Then it echoed in waves that turned her vision black and she lost awareness of her body. Finally, her dizziness settled and she found balance on four feet.

Ada, now a dragon, threw open the front doors of the tower and poured out onto the road like a ribbon of molten black glass.

She spread her black wings and took to the sky, roaring with glee. The band of knights was just around the bend. Two of the horses spooked immediately, throwing their riders and galloping off.

There was a knight in golden armor with a gaudy feather that stuck out three feet from his helmet, and she was sure this was her suitor. She laughed, which sounded like a chuffing, grumbling roar.

The suitor and two other knights were on war horses, which were not so easily spooked.

Ada took a deep breath and tightened her throat, then breathed out in a smooth exhale. As a human, all that could accomplish was fogging up a mirror. As a dragon, a gout of fire burst from between her fangs, pouring out over the road and licking towards the horses’ feet.

The horses knickered and jumped, though they did not yet spook.

One of the knights had looped around to the side, and Ada saw just a glint in the sunlight as he loosed a spear at her.

It bounced harmlessly off of the outside of her thigh. The legends about dragon’s indestructibility had proved true. 

The suitor shouted something and the knights retreated a ways, then regrouped.

Ada grinned a fang-filled smile at them. She’d have some fun with them, then.

They pulled out bows and arrows and these too bounced harmlessly off of her hide. A few sliced through the thin membranes of her wings, but though that was painful, it was not serious. Like a paper cut, they stung but would quickly heal. It was worth it, to see the look of dread coming over the knights.

They shot their quivers empty and they worked their horses to a lather, but still they had made no notable traction in defeating the dragon. And still, the dragon spewed gout after gout of flame at their feet.

These knights had a few clever tricks, like a miniature ballista loaded with a net of rope. They had fired this at Ada and it had successfully grounded her, but it had taken only one tug for her to snap the ropes. She swept low over the gold-armored knight and dropped the mangled net over him and his horse, which finally caused them some trouble. 

She watched with amusement as his helmet came off in the ensuing confusion, revealing his sweaty, red face.

Ada roared, then, and his horse’s resolve finally broke and it set out suddenly from under him. He tumbled off the saddle but the net was still tangled around both him and the horse, and it dragged him off at a full gallop.


Ada tried not to cause any permanent injuries, but there was only so much she could do for those that didn’t respect her strength.

The rest of knights fled as well, leaving Ada alone in her expanse of fields once more.

Especially as a dragon, she got a distinct pleasure from evicting interlopers from her territory. She’d ended up a mile or two away from the tower, and she headed back. At that particular moment she couldn’t fly, and for the same reason she could hardly walk either. She made it a small distance before she started limping. And panting. 

Not for any injury. But because her sex ached.

If she even walked normally, she was sure to climax, and then it would be a very long walk back to the tower. 

Ada slowed and whimpered. Maybe if she stopped and took a break, she could…

Within moments, she was rolling in the grass, knuckles of her back feet curled up and rubbing at herself. 

She lost all sense, all direction, other than tending to the fire that was building within her. 

She rolled around and found a boulder and wrapped around it, rubbing her scales against the hard rock.

This was like the sensation of the bones of her knuckles but significantly more intense, more effective. The grinding vibrations surged through her in waves of quivering heat. 

Ada panted, forked tongue lolling out, rubbing herself senseless on this rock in the middle of a field.

And goddamn did it feel good.

She bellowed as she climaxed and the sound carried for miles, surely spurring the knights to hasten their departure.

Ada, now human and naked again, was sprawled on the boulder which was larger than her in every dimension and slick with dragon juices.

She sighed. It was going to be a long walk.

Ada pushed herself up, hands now covered in slippery, thick wetness.


She stroked her hips, her thighs, and loved the slickness of it, loved the feeling of her soft flesh under her hands. She was out here, in the middle of a field, completely exposed. A warm summer wind tousled the grass and her hair.

She stroked her labia, still thick with arousal, and gasped at the sensitivity.

The sky was broad up above, the rock warm from her prior embrace, the grasses gently rustling, possibly hiding watchers…

Let them see, let the birds and the rabbits see, a woman find her pleasure.

Ada let her mind wander yet again, and this time she imagined a voyeur in the grass. An accidental one, one of the more reserved knights, coming back to search for his horse. He’d seen the dragon coming and hid, then had seen the dragon coming and watched. It aroused his sex and his guilt — what a perverse sight! But he had to hide for his life!

But if he had to hide for his life, then why was he so aroused by this dragon? But then the dragon had turned into this beautiful, naked princess, and his dilemma wasn’t the only thing that grew.

The dragon had been a woman, so that had to make this less guilty, right? But now he was watching a woman pleasure herself, and he was hiding in the grass.

What was he to do? Say something? But he had hid for his life and could not be faulted for that.

His dick pressed achingly against the inside of his trousers. The woman moaned and another bolt of arousal struck him. He felt lightheaded.

His erection throbbed and swelled more, now painfully bound.

He had to hide, had to watch, for his life. Now, he had to be vigilant. And this painful containment would be distracting. So, he had better undo his trousers, but he would do no more. His dick sprung free to a cool touch of air. Now, it bounced and swelled to its full hardness. Then harder. Had it ever felt this hard?

He grasped it to see if the shaft felt any harder in his hand, but that was a mistake. Pleasure shot up through him and tried to moan from his throat but he kept silent.

He had to keep absolutely silent, lest the dragon discover and devour him. 

He tried to keep his hand still, but the woman rolled to her side, seeking a new position, and giving him a full view of her ample ass. It bounced and quivered as she trembled and rubbed herself.

He whimpered. His hand began to stroke.

Maybe, maybe if he got it over with very quickly, then that was the most respectable thing to do. The most respectful. Just, um, business. Get it over with and hide in a non-aroused way.

He started stroking himself at at a pace that would carry him there quickly.

This, also, was a mistake. Very soon, he realized that this was no ordinary arousal. It was a kind that made him want to moan and growl. If this was just his arousal, how loud would his climax be?

He had to stop. He had to make sure that he did not come but he had already edged himself so very close.

The woman gasped and moaned and it was such a delicious sound that it pulled an audible whimper from him. But she hadn’t noticed. She was louder than him, and focused on her own business.

This, this could work.

And it did work, but it was torment. He did his best to time his own rushes of pleasure to her unpredictable vocalizations. He would get right up to the edge time and time again but then she would abruptly fall silent, and he had to freeze. 

His balls ached, they had never felt so full. Again, he edged himself right up to her silence. He clamped down hard on his base, just barely catching himself as his balls spasmed, only the pressure of his hand on his shaft halting his ejaculation. 

Moments later she moaned again, but this one was different. Sharper, higher. A spark of hope glimmered in him. Then another, forceful, loud. And another —

Yes, oh fuck, yes, she was coming, he was coming, she was coming!

He growled and gasped, safely covered by her literal screams of pleasure, as he pumped rope after rope of cum into the grass, and just utterly emptied.

He slumped to all fours. A shadow fell over him. The dragon!

He froze. Didn’t dare move a muscle. He stared at the puddle of cum in front of him until long after the dragon had spread its wings and flown away towards the tower.

The woman was gone.

Ada thanked her imaginary voyeur for his inspiration as she returned to the tower and draped herself around the top, nestling her chin on the sun-warmed stone. Sated, she watched the sun set, once again dreaming that the quivering light on the western horizon was the ocean.

Part 1: The Beginning, The Dragon's Tower

Chapter 3: Ensnared

The next morning, Ada sulked down the stairs, a bit later than usual. She had hardly slept. Though, she had regained some small margin of confidence when she had discovered a loose stone in the tower wall and hidden her most important books there.

The witch was not in her usual place by the fire. She stood smirking at the bottom of the stairs, hands on her hips. “Well?”

“Yes?” Ada required no theater to sound weary.

“Aren’t you going to get started on dinner, or are you going to laze about all day?”

Ada slunk the rest of the way down the stairs and lifted a potato from the basket by the stove.

The witch tsked. “No no. Go fetch some more rabbits.”

‘Fetch’ some more rabbits, as if they were just at some market, waiting for them. As if Ada hadn’t taught herself, only from a book, how to trap and kill and clean and cook them.

“I thought that wasn’t ladylike?” Ada whispered, but there was no fight in her voice.

“It’s what a lady like you is going to do today,” the witch snipped.

Ada set down the potato, fetched a spindle of twine from its place on the mantle, and stepped outside.

It was a fine day in early summer. Once she was outside and setting to work, she could not remain upset for long. She determined that she would catch a few extra rabbits and try to salt-cure the meat. The thrill of planning her escape brought her quickly back to her usual disposition.

After she finished setting the last snare at the edge of a copse of trees, she took a moment to survey the field behind her and decide what she might do until it was time to check the traps. 

The gurgle of the stream caught her ear and she started down towards the place where she usually bathed.

She realized with a laugh that if her father had seen her then, he would have thought she was some kind of urchin. Her calves were dusty where the dirt of the field had stuck to her sweat and there was still dried blood on her knees.

Ada stripped off her frock even before she had reached the stream, grateful once again that the surrounding area was so utterly empty. The sun gazed down on her lovingly and the gentle breeze caressed her.

She almost didn’t see the doe that had stooped to drink at the edge of the stream. It froze and swiveled its ears at her, then bounded off into the swaying grasses. There were a few bows tucked away in the tower’s modest armory. She’d have to start practicing.

That was for later, though. For now, she’d take a bath.

The water of the stream was sweetly cool. It came only up to her calves, so she lay flat on the rounded pebbles of the stream bed and submerged herself.

The dirt and her anxieties washed away. It took a bit more effort to get the blood off her knees, but soon that too was gone.

Her mind drifted to an imagined future. 

She was a clever hunter and had lived a long, lone while in the forest. 

He was riding through the forest on a decorated horse, his tailcoats navy velvet with gold trim, his wavy hair flowing down over his shoulders, and his face handsome and carefree. He was her mark, her prey.

She stalked him through the forest, preparing. She was swift, silent. She waited until he paused to let his horse drink at a stream, and that was when she struck.

Water splashed, the horse whinnied and spooked, there was a gasping tussle, and then he kneeled on the ground in front of her, her knife at his throat.

But then she saw the lovely curve of his collarbone, his brilliant blue eyes pleading up at her and the true innocence in his face. She realized that he was not guilty of the crimes that had put the price on his head.

Ada’s mind skipped through the next bits, a few plot advancements and shifts in relationship, rebalances in the power dynamic, until via some literary contrivance she and he were back at the same stream again.

She shoved him down into the soft peat and pounced.

His erection rose to meet her. 

She fucked him against the bank as the stream gurgled its support. His hair flowed out around him and his blue eyes pleaded up at her for release.

But she would not give it to him. Not until she’d had her fill. Grinding against him, she worked herself to orgasm once, twice, three times. His desperate arousal grew more and more frantic each time.

Finally, she shifted her hips so that her movements would stimulate him in the way that he so desperately desired. His face melted into a vision of sheer angelic bliss as he finally came, blessing her with all his seed, and she climaxed again.

As Ada lay in the stream she did indeed finish her fourth climax, her panting and gasping mingling with the babbling water. More time had passed than she realized and the sun was now dipping low in the sky. She walked quickly through the field and found that three out of her five traps had caught small rabbits. She called upon her imaginary hunter for resolve and wrung their necks, then headed back to the tower.

Her heart glowed just as brightly as the setting sun, and she only barely remembered to put on a frown as she entered the tower.

She must have been convincing enough, because the witch just looked at her smugly as Ada set about cleaning the rabbits and preparing the night’s meal.

They ate in silence and only after Ada had washed the dishes and returned to the fireside to sew did the witch finally say, “Ada, we need to have a talk.” She leaned back in her chair across from Ada and looked down her long nose.

“What about?” Ada steeled herself. She just needed to acquiesce and barter for time.

“Your… perverse activities.”

“You mean my masturbating?” The quip was out of her mouth before she could think better of it. So much for her resolve. Ada was truly terrible at pretending to be in a bad mood.

“You can’t — ack — ugh! See, this cavalier attitude is completely unacceptable!”

“I still don’t understand why.”

“You aren’t supposed to understand why.”

“Well… why not?” It was a genuine question. It always had been.

The witch’s smirk faded and she leaned forward slightly, sighing and pressing her fingertips to her temples. “Look. You don’t get to understand why. You just need to do what you’re told. And you need to stop those activities. I know what you did today.”

Had the witch spied on Ada from the top of the tower? Scandalous. “You don’t have to watch if you—”

“I knew it! You little… little… cretin!” The witch’s volume escalated, her nostrils flaring. “And outside! How shameful!”

“I thought you said you knew—”

“I suspected and you’ve just confirmed it. And here I thought you were turning a corner. Hah! Of course I should have known that you’d be incorrigible!”

The witch turned into a flurry of skirts and anger as she fumed over to a shelf and returned with a book. Ada was concerned that she would see another of her treasures turned to ash, but she didn’t recognize the cover. It was made of leather and branded with arcane symbols.

The witch shook the book at Ada. “I’m going to teach you a lesson. You seem to be lacking for… self control. But this is why you get a witch to guard your tower, hm? Because witches know a trick or two, far more clever than fetching rabbits!”

Ada was unsure of how to respond. Anything she said would surely just goad the witch further. Perhaps if Ada just let her finish her rant, she’d make a few threats and then send Ada away.

“This, oh this will teach you your lesson!” the witch continued, flipping through her book and pressing it open on the table, snatching a burning candle from the table and a fistful of herbs from her pocket. 

Ada had seen something similar before. She’d been doused with healing water in rings of ten candles on more than one occasion, back when the queen had been convinced that Ada’s penchant for pleasure was due to a demonic possession.

A flicker of snark danced on her tongue, a challenge like ‘so are you going to grind a poultice at me?’, but this time Ada did not let it escape.

The witch looked purposeful and confident as she poured candle wax onto the table in a pentagram.

The light flickered oddly in the hollows of her face and she turned back to Ada with wild eyes. Had she finally smoked too many herbs? “I am going to curse you so that at the peak of your pleasure you turn into a hideous beast! You’ll have to choose! Behave or lose everything! Nobody will tend a hideous beast, no one will defer, no one will respect you or woo you with favors.”

“You really seem to be speaking from personal experience here.” Shit. She’d meant it in an empathetic, ‘who hurt you’ kind of way, but as soon as it was out of her mouth she knew exactly how it sounded.

The witch shrieked with a fury beyond words. She started chanting, spittle flicking from her mouth. She withdrew several hempen pouches from her pocket and threw them in the fire. As the contents burned, the flames licked up purple and green.

The spell was not a short one. Rather than sit and watch the witch chant for minutes on end, Ada stood from her chair. “I’m… going to bed.”

And honestly, the witch’s episode was unsettling. Was she really so delusional to think she could work the old magic? What in the world was she trying to call down on Ada?

The witch continued her coarse chanting, face twisted with satisfaction.

Ada started up the stairs. Before she left earshot, the witch had finished chanting.

“Remember!” she screamed. “A HIDEOUS BEAST!”

The racing of her heart had started as wariness. But as she closed the door of her room and sank into her bed, once again surrounded by her books, it morphed into the heat of arousal.

Could the witch have accomplished some magic after all?

Just the thought that the witch’s spell could have backfired in such a way was a bellows on the growing flame. She was sure then that the arousal had been in her imagination all along.

But, it was a fun idea. The witch picking the wrong spell, it simply making Ada thirstier instead of doing anything at all about the ‘problem’… Ada liked that idea so much that she didn’t even bother to undress before she pulled up her frock and started touching herself.

She was already plenty wet from her extended activities by the stream, and her fingers against her felt so good. Though she was tired from the day and wanted to sleep, she’d hardly be able to with her heart pounding like this. Rubbing another one out seemed like a fine lullaby.

And she couldn’t deny, she had a sort of morbid curiosity. She liked the idea of so quickly opening her door and declaring, ‘your spell didn’t work at all!’. Then, as the witch raged, perhaps Ada would just pick her up, deposit her outside and bar the door. Ada was surprised she hadn’t thought of it sooner. She was not yet accustomed to her newfound strength. 

Her boldness turned to unfettered lust as Ada worked herself gleefully towards climax.

Part 1: The Beginning, Stories, The Dragon's Tower

Chapter 1: Once Upon a Time

The castle pantry was warm and dark. Ada leaned back against a wall, him in the folds of her skirt, his tongue in the folds of her sex. She bit her lip to stifle a moan.

It was good to be a princess.

He was the chef’s apprentice and he had arrived at the castle sometime in the past year. She had first caught sight of him through a crack in the kitchen door, when it had been propped open to let out some of the heat. A warm current that smelled of buttery meat and roasting vegetables had washed over her. She had peeked inside. He had been standing over a trussed turkey, knife in hand, curly hair tied back from his face, eyes narrow with focus and tongue sticking out between his full lips.

That tongue had proved to be one of his most talented assets, both when he was cooking and when he was… eating. 

She’d found excuses to linger by the kitchen, to request pastries or sliced fruit. The chef herself had long stopped humoring Ada’s requests for late night snacks but the apprentice obliged. The chef allowed this because she had been less concerned about depriving Ada and more so about deferring the queen’s ire; the queen had come to personally scold the chef for allowing Ada to become ‘too thick’. 

Ada had rolled her eyes and scoffed. If her mother wanted to be willowy, that was fine for her. But, Ada liked the way that her breasts filled her hands, that her ass jiggled when she shook it at one of her lust-eyed lovers and that her thighs brushed each other just below her sex. 

Ada knew her mother’s other motivation was to keep her away from just this kind of late night kitchen flirting. But Ada would not be contained, not by a corset and not by the queen’s disapproval.

The chef’s apprentice, for his part, was all too happy to offer her chocolate squares, strawberry tarts and apple slices. She had further requested sausages and turkey legs and he had obliged with a gulp. She had eaten them lingeringly, with ample moaning and licking of her fingers. Ada loved the way that his face first flushed red and then drained pale as the blood traveled elsewhere. 

Glimpses of his erection in the front of his trousers had been her favorite late night treat in those early days when she was wooing him. 

Finally, she had asked to cook with him and he had nearly fainted with excitement. He had taken her into the pantry, which was lined with shelf after shelf of foodstuffs. Jars of pickles and bags of flour, boxes of sugar and barrels of oil and wine. In the night it was quiet and dark and close, a labyrinth that provided ample hidden corners. 

She had placed her fingers on the base of his neck and whispered her proposal in his ear. “Would you like to eat something sweet I’ve made?”

“Y-yes, please, Your Majesty!”

She had found a suitable barrel and sat back, lifting her layered skirts just enough for him to slip beneath. He had needed no further instructions.

As a chef he knew how to please the tongue, and as a lover he knew how to please with the tongue. 

For the past two months, she’d been coming to the pantry nearly every night, as much as she could get away with. She’d lost count of how many times now. There had been a trip to a neighboring kingdom that had denied her for several days, but the hunger only made the taste that much more delicious.

Ada had offered to attend to him also, but he had stutteringly refused. Perhaps he was embarrassed or perhaps he felt it was above his station, or both. That was the one part that disappointed her. 

It was fun to be Her Majesty, to play the character of the demanding and entitled royalty. It was the closest she ever got to acting ‘like a princess’ as her parents were always telling her to, and it was the way that made them most furious of all. The malicious compliance especially aroused her. 

And yet, it was lonely that nobody knew her as herself. Not ‘Her Majesty’, just ‘Ada’. Ada loved to give pleasure as much as she loved to receive it. With the chef’s apprentice, Ada longed to make good on everything she’d implied sucking on sausages in front of him. 

Alas, he had declined. And she wouldn’t pressure him any further. She had made that mistake before, not realizing that her playful insistence still held the weight of ‘Her Majesty’.

So, she was more careful now. She couldn’t imagine how he managed. It wasn’t that the experience didn’t arouse him. She saw his erection clearly through his trousers both as she arrived and left. He’d taken to wearing an apron even when he wasn’t actually cooking, which meant that these troubles plagued him even outside their rendezvous. 

One night, after his talented palate brought her to another height of quivering pleasure, she had asked him. 

“You prefer I don’t help relieve you,” she had said. 

“Yes, Your Majesty!”

“But you might understand that I only ask because I care for you… however do you manage?”

His face had reddened. “It’s nothing I can’t handle myself, Your Majesty.”

Ada had grinned like she had just bit into one of his sweet strawberry tarts. “You handle yourself?”

He had hesitated. But, perhaps emboldened by her positive reaction, he’d nodded slightly. 

“Here, in the pantry?” She had been gripped with the thrill.

He had nodded. 

“How often?” She had hoped it was all the time. 

He’d turned his eyes down towards the bags of flour next to them. “O-often…”

She had imagined it immediately. Him sneaking away from the kitchen, his hands still slick with butter. Him carefully undoing his trousers and then melting into a sweet release that relaxed all the focus out of his face, that left him blissy-eyed, that left his perfect tongue hanging out of his mouth. Him hearing a noise and shifting back into his expression of focus and forcing himself to stay silent, bringing himself to climax and completion just in time to holler back that he’d had trouble finding the pickled eggs, but he had them now. 

Was ‘often’ daily? Multiple times a day? Did the kitchen think he was terrible at finding ingredients? Had he ever run out of time and forced himself to stop just before the brink of relief and dragged himself back to work? 

Did he think of her all day? Did he handle himself before their visits? Was that the only reason he could keep his composure so well? Because he had vigorously, secretly masturbated to her earlier?

Her heart had raced, her arousal rekindling as she thought of all the possibilities. 

“Would you show me?” She had breathed. Might he finally?

He’d shaken his head frantically. “I musn’t, Your Majesty!”

“That’s alright,” she’d said, suddenly feeling guilty, hoping to sound as assuring as possible. 

“I fear I… I fear I might make you upset!” He’d looked up at her with wide, brown eyes. 

“You haven’t!” She had regretted saying anything and had cupped his face in her hand. It had still been wet with her. “The only thing that could make me upset is if you agree to do something with me that you don’t actually want to do, alright?”

He’d nodded. 

“Promise me you won’t.”

“I promise, your majesty.”

“Alright, then.” She had stood and arranged her skirts. “I’ll leave you to… handle yourself.” She’d winked at him, put her fingers to her mouth and licked them off long and slow. 

That time, she’d seen his erection even through his apron. 

Ada had wound back out through the labyrinthine shelves of the pantry but lingered before leaving. 

The sound of his panting was just audible, almost mistakable for a mouse rummaging in a bag of wheat. Then, then a poorly stifled moan had reached her ears like the delicious smell of chocolate cake wafting down a hallway. 

It had taken all her willpower to leave then and not indulge her voyeuristic desires. Though, that had hardly stopped her from imagining. She fantasized about him panting there, thinking of her, masturbating over and over and over again, until he was totally spent.

Though that’s actually what she had done — masturbated to the thought of him — quietly under her covers, over and over again, until her arm was too tired to lift and she was totally spent.

She indulged in that memory now. Imagination was the kind of magic that allowed a person to be in two places at once. In fantasy he masturbated next to her while in actuality his talented tongue pressed up even more deeply inside of her. He hummed with pleasure, as if he had just tasted a particularly delicious strawberry.

In the past few weeks, she’d gotten bolder. Lately, she hadn’t been able to force herself to wait until the middle of the night, so she had started to sneak to the kitchen between meals or in the early morning. This day, it was the quiet lull between lunch and tea time.

She stroked her fingers through his curly brown hair. He allowed her at least this gesture of appreciation.

He was far from the first or the only lover she’d had. She’d been with her ladies in waiting, scribes, knights, squires, even another princess. If they were too much older than her it got a bit awkward, and she was swift to decline anyone who seemed too much a child. But, beyond that there were few limits to her attractions.

The queen could not make up her mind whether Ada had so many affairs because she was not yet married, or that she was not yet married because she had so many affairs. The queen had become convinced in recent years that Ada would die alone, even though she was only twenty and three. Apparently, that made her an old maid by princess’ standards. And yet, her lovers seemed to find her plenty hearty and hale.

“You’re my favorite,” she whispered to the chef’s apprentice. He had been for at least two moons now, that was something impressive. Her affections usually did not linger this long, but he was something special.

He moaned in appreciation and the earnestness of it started to tilt her over the edge. Her chest heaved, her heart raced, her blood tingled, her eyes started to roll back. It was like the feeling of pure honey on her tongue, or a ripe berry between her lips, or the smell of herbs on roasted meat — abject pleasure. 

“Fuck, yes… yes… Aaaah!~”

Her fingers in his hair clenched and pulled hard. She couldn’t help it, not when she had to hold in a scream of pleasure, which fought to escape her chest.

He buried deeper and still licked her even as she shuddered through her climax, even as her legs clamped around his head.

Finally, she relented. He stilled, then stood from under her skirts. His face was wet with her and bright with a grin. She smoothed his curls down, stroking him gently, and he purred in her hands.

“Sorry for pulling,” she said.

“I don’t mind at all,” he said. In fact, it sounded like he rather enjoyed it.

There was a creak of footsteps in the hall.

“Aw, fuck,” she said. “Off you go!”

He glanced at the pantry door and nodded, dashing into a dark corner between shelves of pickled vegetables.

The door slammed open and cast a bright wedge of light on Ada. The king loomed in a red cloak and a halo of righteous fury.

Mercifully, Ada’s skirts had never compromised her ‘modesty’. She smoothed them and her hair, trying to look nonchalant.

“What are you doing in here?” the king demanded.

Ada shrugged, examining her fingernails. She doubted she was going to get away with it this time, but it was worth a try. “You know I like the dark. It helps me think.”

The king’s nostrils flared. “I know what I heard. I know what I smell. That’s it! I’m sending you to a tower!”