Once upon a time...

It's always 'once upon a time', isn't it? It's never "a few days ago" or "May 14th", or even "right around that time when...". Always 'Once'. Past tense. Way back when. The Salad Days.

Well, fuck it. Once upon a time, there was a princess. She was, as far as princesses go, beautiful; neither inbreeding nor poor child rearing had marked her, and with her long hair and sweet, innocent smile, she was always, and without fail, the belle of the ball. To be fair, though, most of the balls were held for her, and as such, having anyone else outshine her would have been not only uncouth, but also treasonous. Never forget that these old stories always take place in absolute monarchies. Beheadings, flayings and the occasional running of the gauntlet were national pastimes back then-- but I digress.

Once upon a time, then, was a princess and an absolute monarchy, and with that came a fair amount of power, luxury and boredom. The latter part in particular bothered the princess, whose name shan't be mentioned for reasons pertaining to the nature and structure of fairy tales. She may be the protagonist of this story, but she will never be blessed with a name, nor any other distinguishing marks than being a princess. Which is a stereotype in itself, really, so what do you need? Just imagine the most quintessential fairy tale princess you can, and plop her down into the middle of this story. There you go, see? Perfect representation of the female ideal - and what a pretty one, too!

So! Once upon a time, a princess was bored, and so she turned to the only means of distracting herself that she could: Boys. Well, men, but since we are by definition infantilizing this poor woman, we might as well be egalitarian about it and diminish the menfolk as well. Big, burly, strapping lads, bristling with muscle and derring-do after a lifetime of adventure and seafaring, with glistening foreheads and magnificent mustaches that wobbled when they spoke. Naturally, the princess was not all that interested in their words; most common folk make dreadful socialites, and that goes double for men who are more used to gargling sea water and scrubbing their respective poop decks than eating canapes and playing croquet. Which might be anachronistic, but this is a fairy tale, and if you can have dragons and trolls and fairy god mothers, then by God, you can have a game of balls and mallets as well, than you very much!

Which brings us back to the story. Once upon a time, there was a princess who needed the company of men to distract herself from all the money and power and croquet mallets she had. And with them being terrible conversationalists, the princess needed to find other uses for them, which she did with the same kind of aplomb as she did when defeating peasant revolts - which is to say, lazily, haughtily and with an air of general boredom that so often surrounds the ruling class of these kinds of feudal societies. At first, the princess ordered her many suitors to compete in games for her attention; games of chance, games of skill, games of cunning and wit and strength. From poetry and song to the throwing of large, blunt objects and hoisting themselves over impromptu barricades, the man strove and struggled to keep the princess happy, but for all of their work, it didn't take. As it turns out, watching burly men perform feats of skill all day long soon loses its lustre, even when you are immensely, immensely bored. It is a thing called novelty-habituation, and it happens with everything you'll ever do. Fun piece of trivia, right?

Well, then. Once upon a time (as we have previously established) there was a bored princess and a bunch of burly lads. This itself might have been an excellent name for a musical act, but unfortunately, the only musical affinity any of these people had was a single man who played the harmonica, and the princess who had tried and failed to pick up the lyre as a child. Subsequently, they remained bored and without music, which can only have worsened their moods considerably. Until, that is, the princess got the idea, as all 19-year old women eventually do, of examining the particulars of the people with whom she was sharing her boredom. Once this idea had taken root, it grew in fervor and ferocity, until her young, nubile heart could barely stand the idea of not pursuing it to the bitter end. This, Ladies and Gentlemen, is more commonly known as "an incredibly serious case of the horny", and if the princess had never seen a man naked before, then at least she had the perfect opportunity to engage in an in-depth field study, present company considered. Now, the princess, despite her lack of characterization beyond the barest of minimums, was no fool, and she set to work with what might be called 'a scientist's mindset', but which could more adequately be describes as 'wanton sluttery'.

First, the used her mouth, and found that the taste and feel of men between her lips was both good and nice, as well as gratifying when the creamy surprise finally arrived at the end. Still, it was not quite what she had hoped. Despite their best efforts, with half a score of men crowded around her kneeling form and lending their long, hard and throbbing assistance, the princess never found the peak that she was so desperately searching for, and the burning in her loins remained a constant, even after every man had been drained and drained and drained again between her luscious, plump lips.

Next - and after a well-deserved rest - the princess decided to experiment with the sensations of her body, but even as she moaned and writhed and made all manner of unsightly sounds that are best not described in a children's story, not one of the men could adequately satisfy the abject need within the yearning princess. In part because any understanding of female anatomy and the existence of the clitoris was woefully lackluster at the time, and in part because not one of the men dared step out of line and suggest that the princess was doing something wrong this entire time. Which in itself is a perfect indictment of the kind of morality that demonizes the noble art of self-pleasure. If only the princess had been less of a stereotype, and more of an actual human being who had existed for nineteen years in her own body before coming into being for the purpose of this story...

We're getting off track again. After tasting them and riding them like tamed mules, the princess had but one recourse, which involved a bit of preliminary cleaning up which is so often left out of polite, pornographic content. Fortunately, the princess had more money than morals, and finding something - or someone - to help her in this hygienic endeavor proved little problem. And then she returned to her cadre of suitors, climbed on all fours onto her splendidly embroidered silk sheets, and demanded that each of them put their Magic Flute in her Ugly Duckling. Which they did, gladly; who wouldn't kill to get the chance to anally conquer their annoying and spoiled ruler? Yeah, don't answer that, it was a rhetorical question. But with her poop chute so enthusiastically occupied, wouldn't you know it? The princess found herself at the very peak she had been chasing, and she stayed there as each of the suitors plied his skills over and over again, and her cries of ecstasy were audible for miles and miles.

Once upon a time, there was a princess who was something of an anal whore. A butt slut. A booty bitch. A backhole bicycle. And she had a dad who got married to an evil witch or whatever, and there were probably dwarves as well, and a castle and a bunch of trials. That's a different story, though. This one is about fucking a generic princess up the butt.

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