The Three Princesses Read online

  "Such is within my power."

  "Then do so!"

  "Only if you pay the price."

  The Woodsman raised his ax and rushed toward her, only to stop with the ax held high, the blade shaking in the amber light of the room. "Turn him back, or I will strike you down!"

  Fearless, the young woman gaze up at him. "I know you will not. For one, should you do, you would never see your son again. He would slip away amongst the trees like a fish into the ocean, never to return. And two." At this she reached out with her hand, and with one icy cold finger traced the curve of his bicep, tracing it slowly, savoring the swell of the muscle and the power in his arm. "And two, you are not the kind of man to strike down a woman, no matter how much you wish it were otherwise. Am I wrong?" She looked up at him with wide eyes, darkly amused at his plight.

  The Woodsman clenched his ax tight and gritted his teeth and stared down into her porcelain beauty. How could a face so perfect hide such malice? Her features were elfin and sweet, her lips succulent and rich and the red of a ripe apple, and her nose pert and small. She was the most beautiful woman he had not only ever seen, but ever dreamed of, and he wished he could strike such fear into her that she would free his son.

  But he couldn't.

  With a groan he lowered his ax. "What is it you want? Who are you? Why have you done this to me?"

  "Three questions," she said, and dropped her hand from his arm to his chest. She spread her fingers wide, and pressed her palm over his heart. Even through his clothing he could feel how cold her hand was. She pressed it against his chest, feeling his muscle, and then ran it down his torso before dropping it away. "Three questions, but I'll answer them in reverse order.

  "First, why have I done this to you? I could give you many reasons, all of them true. I could say that I have grown wroth with your chopping down my trees, felling beings who have stood peacefully in their groves for centuries until you came along with your ax. I could say that I am merely cruel, and delight in toying with you, in making you dance to my command. I could say that I am bored, and wish to pass the night in the company of another, to drown my memories for but a night. All true.

  "Second, who am I? I am Circe, the goddess of the Woods, the queen of the Ocean, immortal and beloved by heroes and immortals alike. I am the daughter of Helios and Perse, and have seen more sunrises and deaths and births than even my memory can recall. I am Circe, and none can refuse my will, none can resist my desire.

  "Finally, what is it I want?" Her smile grew wicked, and the Woodsman felt trapped by the gleam in her eyes, the decadent desire, the hunger and carnality that burned forth from her. She reached out and grabbed his cock, feeling for it through his pants with a surety born of endless lifetimes of experiences, and he found himself growing immediately hard and erect so that he strained against his pants almost painfully. "What is it I want?" Her voice lowered to a whisper. "I want you, every which way, in every way. I want you inside me; I want to ride you, to see how far you can go before you break, before you fail." She stepped closer, and began to massage the Woodsman's cock, moving her hand in subtle gyrations against his pants, running her palm up and down the length of his shaft. All the while she looked up at him, deep into his eyes. "I have watched you. Swinging that ax, sweat running down your back. Heard you grunt as you buried the blade in each trunk, seen your muscles bulge as you pulled your ax free. I've seen you strain to lift giant branches, watched you sleep in the tall grass, your chest rising and falling, your eyes closed, your mind adrift on the tides of sleep."

  The Woodsman could barely breathe. He looked down at Circe, into her eyes, and still she massaged his cock, her touch growing frustratingly light, teasing and torturing him, her fingers deft even through the weave of fabric. His mind spun, and he tried to focus, to think.

  "And yet," said Circe, ever so slightly sticking out her lip as if put out. "And yet never have I seen you pleasure yourself as solitary men are wont to do. Not even as your son slept did you ever slip away into the bushes to gasp and work your cock, eyes closed as you thought of some other woman's breasts or hot wet cunt. Never. Not once, in all these years. Can you imagine my curiosity?" Her eyes were burning bright, and a faint flush had brushed her smooth cheeks. "What kind of man, so virile and strong, restrains himself so perfectly? For whom does he save himself, if he lives all alone with his son?"

  Her hand grew more firm on his cock, and the Woodsman found himself yearning for her to slip it under his pants, to feel her cool touch against his throbbing hardness, her palm on his shaft, to feel the sweet friction as she wrapped her delicate fingers about his cock and worked him harder. He fought a groan, fought for mastery, and all he could do was stand there and shiver with the effort.

  Circe moved closer, and now she was so close that her breasts were nearly touching his sternum, and he could smell her, smell her long hair. It was a delicious scent, the smell of the woods and the sun, and more, secret perfumes that were as subtle as they were fragrant, akin to a field of flowers, delirious and perfect and enough to make you wish to close your eyes and breathe deep, were he not riveted by her gaze.

  "Who is she?" Circe's voice was but a whisper now and her touch more demanding. "For whom do you save yourself with such passionate discipline?"

  "My wife," groaned the Woodsman.

  "Your wife?" Circe paused in her ministrations. "And where is she?"

  "She died," whispered the Woodsman. "Long ago."

  Circe blinked, and then her smile returned, curling with delight. She narrowed her eyes and resumed rubbing his shaft, moving her hand over the bump of his engorged head and then back down low to the base. "Dead, is she? Then you save yourself for no good reason. All these years, restraining, fighting your passion. I shall give you release. I will bring you such sweet torment that it will feel as if I am lowering you into the fiery lakes of Hades, only to rescue you and bathe your burning skin with cool kisses and sweet succor. Oh yes." Her voice was little more than a throaty whisper now, and she pressed herself against him with the languorous sensuality of a cat. "Oh yes, tonight will be yours as well as mine."

  "No," said the Woodsman. It took all his might. "I will not."

  "You have no choice," said Circe, pressing her cheek against his chest and looking down at her hand as she finally lifted it and slipped it under his belt. "Not if you wish to see your son. You have no choice but to do what I say."

  Her touch was as cool as he had imagined, soft and smooth and demanding. She slid her hand between his abdomen and cock, down to his wiry bush of hair, and there grasped him around the base, her fingers curling around softly, so softly and then ghosting up his length, tormenting him, driving him to a frenzy.

  "You promise?" He could barely phrase his words. "If I do this, you promise to return my son?"

  "Oh yes," said Circe. "Oh yes."

  "Then so be it," said the Woodsman. He dropped his ax to the floor. It hit the carpet with a heavy thud. He took her about the waist, his hands so large that she was almost a doll in his grip, and lifted her up. She gasped, surprised, and her eyes flashed with wild fire as he walked over to her bureau and sat her on it, her legs spreading about his waist as her skirt rode up. He slid one broad hand behind her slender back and cupped the back of her head with his other hand, and leaned down to kiss her cool neck. She looked up, exposing her throat, and he kissed its marble smoothness, kissed it over and over until he reached the hollow behind her ear and there he licked her, nose buried in her hair. He felt her begin to scratch his back, running her nails up and down his sides as she began to breathe deeply.

  His anger and arousal and need and long, hard years of self denial came to a head, and he let loose his emotions, his need, his hunger. He held her to him without caring how hard he did so, pressed her lithe body against his broad, strong one, and kissed with hungry need the length of her jaw, bringing his hand round to cup her cold cheek, the curves of her ear pressed against his palm. She moved within his
grip, never still, rubbing her chest against his, laughing as she turned her head from one side to the other, pretending to evade his kisses as he sought her ruby lips. He wanted to kiss her mouth, bite her lips until they hurt, taste her tongue, but she would not let him, and finally she slipped away altogether, off the bureau to back away from him, eyes flashing as she laughed low.

  The Woodsman turned; shoulders hunched, muscles taut, and stalked after her. She laughed again, and turned to dance away, leading him across the bed, a ghost that he could not catch, a wind that passed through his fingers as if he were a slow and clumsy oaf. The more she evaded him the more his savage desire grew, his anger and resentment blending into a need to dominate her, to control her, to make her beg him for more. She laughed and danced and on he followed, till she finally turned and slipped within the cradle of his arms. Before he could hug her to him, however, she dropped to her knees, and with a practiced flick undid his belt.

  The Woodsman froze, jaw clenched, and felt her pull his belt free with a snap. She tossed it aside onto the bed, and then pulled down his pants, raking his thighs painfully as she did so, looking up at him and grinning all the while. He stood panting, his hard stomach shivering as he watched her pull down his small clothes, and his cock sprang forth. It was large, wide, with a thick vein running along its length. The head was broad and smooth and massively swollen, and for a moment Circe simply stared at it, looking for all the world to be taken aback. Then with a feline purr she reached up with both hands, and curled her fingers along its length. It was so large that she could wrap both hands around it, and still have the head emerge.

  "Oh yes," she whispered deep in her throat. "This is what I have dreamed of. This is what I need." She began to stroke its length, teasing once more at first, trailing the tips of her fingers along its girth, back and forth and then down to curl over his balls which hung heavy between his thighs. She whispered her touch over them then back up his cock to the very tip, where he would gasp and contract so that his cock would jerk up with the tension. Again she laughed, a soft sound, and on she went, coaxing and teasing and playing and torturing him until he thought he would lose his mind, would be unable to hold back and simply fall upon her to ravish her right there on the carpet.

  Just when he could hold himself back no longer, she placed both hands together so that each formed a semi-circle, and ran them both down his shaft firmly, pulling the skin of his cock down taut and making his tip swell even larger. He groaned, and when she leaned forward and the tip of her tongue darted across his head, he closed his eyes. It felt like a slice of flame. Up came her hands, then down smoothly, firmly, drawing him taut once more, and again she licked, around the shaft now, up and down, deft touches that only made him desire more. Down and around and then up came her hands then down and this time she slipped his head fully into her mouth, and when he felt that hot, wet heat enclose him he bunched his hands into fists and shuddered like a tree struck by his own ax.

  Her lips were tight around his shaft, and still she worked her hands rhythmically as she suckled him within her mouth, working her tongue around his head and down his length. Up and down went her hands, and he felt a fire building within his balls and crotch that he had never felt before, a raging need, something that consumed him utterly. The need for release grew ever more pressing, but she would not give it. His cock luxuriated within her mouth, and then she rose up higher, above him, and with a practiced move descended so that the length of his prick entered the back of her throat, and he felt his head push against the back of her mouth and then slip past as she took his whole length slowly past her lips.

  It was too much. Her throat was tight, constricting in the most pleasurable of ways, her lips around the very base of his shaft, her fingers tickling and pulling at the skin of his balls, massaging them as he reached down and clasped the back of her golden head. She seemed not to mind in the least, and he felt himself rising to the tips of his feet, his mouth opening as he roared his need, and all his pent up desire and passion came roaring up from his very core as he came thunderously into her throat.

  Circe rose up with him, pulling back so that his cock slipped free from her throat and he shot his cum endlessly into her mouth. She worked her hands along his shaft as he did so, sucking deep from him as spurt after spurt flew into her mouth, and when he finally could come no more she pulled away with a victorious and wicked grin across her face, a single strand of cum falling from the corner of her mouth.

  The Woodsman groaned, rocking on his heels, blinking, his chest heaving, hands opening and closing spasmodically. Never had he come like that. It had transcended pleasure, felt titanic, as if his cock had been the greatest oak in the forest, and she had torn that orgasm from him like plucking the very tree, roots and all, from the core of his being. Gasping, he felt her icy cold kisses on his thighs, her hands reaching around to cup his cheeks. She kissed and nuzzled him, rubbing her cheek against the underside of his prick which still shuddered and danced, and looked up at him from where she knelt.

  "Oh my beautiful man," she said, purring and satisfied. "My beautiful, strong, righteous man. There. After all these years, there. Oh yes. And we are just beginning."

  The Woodsman took a deep, heaving breath, and looked down at her. All thought was gone from him, all coherency. He looked down at Circe as if he didn't know who she was or why she was there, still clad in her black dress, her hair so full and long that it nearly touched the floor as she knelt. Reaching down, feeling that savagery returning already, he slipped his thick fingers amongst her locks and grasped a fistful which he then pulled tight, turning her head to the side. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him, but her smile never quite slipped away. Her hair was smooth and almost liquid, so easily did it flow and drape about her. He felt a sense of power holding it, a thick knot of her hair clutched in his strong fist, and he tightened his grasp and forced her to turn her head ever more till her dark blue eyes grew bright and tears stood in their corners. But still she smiled up at him, and he heard himself growl deep in his chest as he released her hair and scooped her up under the arms and turned and tossed her onto the bed.

  His cock was hard already as he looked at her where she lay. Her hair was an aureate corona about her head, and her lips were a shocking blood red against her porcelain skin, her eyes narrowed with lust, one knee drawn up, the other leg straight, her dress hugging her lithe figure, tight across her breasts. He stepped up to the bed, knelt on it, moved over her, and then reached down and gripped the black lace hem below her neck. With a ferocious jerk he tore it clear down the front of her body, the fabric shredding and jerking her body up as it did so. Her breasts leaped into view, and with another growl he tore the rest away, using both hands now, until she was naked to the waist, her stomach smooth but for the dimple of her bellybutton, her ribs arching up, her breasts full, her arms slender, her neck long and her face, oh her face, inciting him further with that smile that never left her.

  With another growl the Woodsman bent over her, grabbed her by the sides and lifted her body to his lips, brought a breast to his mouth and bit her cold nipple. She gasped as he suckled and sucked on her nipple, feeling it grow immediately hard under his touch. He was not gentle. He could tell she didn't want that, nor did he want to give her any tenderness. Instead he went back and forth from one full breast to the other, filling his hand with its roundness as he kissed the other, pressing his face to them and moaning and kissing and licking as she pushed and arched her body up against his. Rising, he reached up and yanked his shirt over his head, and then fell upon her, pressing her cool length against his chest, feeling her smooth and nubile body against his muscles, her arms wrapped around his back as he kissed her neck and then sought her mouth, but once again she turned her face away, laughter bubbling forth.

  Giving up on her lips, he knelt back, and pulled the remnants of her dress off her hips and legs and tossed it aside. She laid naked before him, fully a woman though her pussy was shaved completel
y smooth. Pausing, he reached down and traced her slit with the tip of his finger, and it was as if he traced a line of electricity so much did she gasp and writhe. He ran the pad of his thumb up the side of one full lip, and then down the other. She moaned, closed her eyes and pressed her chin to her shoulder. He reached down and held her beneath one knee, raising her leg up and to the side, opening her cunt so that he could see a gleaming slice of crimson. He pushed aside her other thigh, pressing her knee to the bed, and splayed her open wide, so that she could hide nothing from his stare, so that her pussy lay open, the lips slowly parting, her heady musky scent rising and driving him mad. He knelt there, still, simply looking down at her, holding back as his dick grew harder and more demanding, feeling himself grow turgid with desire once more, and then he looked up at her and met her eyes.

  She was watching him just as he had been staring at her. Watching him, admiring him, measuring him. Waiting. Seeing what he would do. They held each other's gaze for a long moment, and a cold control descended upon him. He would fuck her, oh yes, he would ride her until she could be ridden no more, but he was doing this for his son. For his freedom. Not for her. Not for her body, no matter how perfect it was. He was doing this because he had to - but if he had to, he would fuck her so hard she would not forget him for a thousand years to come.

  Some awareness of his thoughts entered her eyes, and her smile grew faint. They looked at each other, and for the very first time, it was as equals, one appraising the other in that moment of silence. Her smile never quite disappeared, but a new solemnity entered her eyes that had not been there before. The Woodsman knelt between her legs, one lifted to the side from below the knee, the other pushed down hard into the mattress, his cock large and swollen and glistening as he stared down at her, and then, slowly, almost tenderly, he released her knee and took his cock and pressed its head down upon the top of her slit where her clitoris lay.