Awaken - By Anya Richards Page 0,2

and writhed with delight, sending petals fluttering from the blossoms to dance in the air around them.

And he stayed, marvelling, as with a gesture the king caused the vines holding his wife to invert her body, until she hung upside down. She was now facing her husband, who thrust his leonine head between her thighs, as the queen engulfed that massive phallus with her mouth. Shivering, holding his cock tight so as not to spill his seed, the prince trembled to hear the sounds of that mutual kissing, the muffled cries, strangled sighs and groans.

And still he could not move, even as the last of the queen’s bonds gently fell away, and her husband scooped her into his embrace. She wrapped her legs around the king’s muscular buttocks, twining her arms around his neck and melting into the passion of his kiss. With a growl of conquest, the king thrust his rampant cock deep into her, and they both cried out in one voice with relief. Writhing together, hips connecting in perfect harmony, they stood in the middle of the clearing, and gossamer wings emerged from between their shoulders.

Still joined in passion, kissing, hands caressing and stroking and squeezing, they rose toward the sky. Sunlight caught the iridescent wings, which beat in frantic counterpoint to the ever more frenzied coupling. Looking up, the prince could clearly see the king’s cock stroking into the queen’s cunny, faster and faster, harder, deeper.

It was too much for a mere mortal to take, for the magic of the moment was overwhelming, and as the king and queen shouted their release, so did the prince find his own. His orgasm overcame him. The seed rushed up from his pulsating ballocks and out in relief-laden spurts. Closing his eyes in ecstasy, the prince knew he would remember this day to the end of his life, and perhaps even beyond.

“What have we here?” The cold haughty voice shocked the prince out of his lust-haze, and his eyes flew open to see the Faery Queen standing before him, sparks of anger gleaming in her sky-blue gaze. “A Peeping Tom—entertaining himself by skulking behind trees and spying on the unwary.”

“Shall I strike him blind or dead, my love, for daring to watch us?”

The king’s voice came from behind him, and a shiver of dread climbed the prince’s spine. How stupid to have courted mortal danger by not doing what was right and leaving them to their play.

The years of knightly training awoke inside, and the prince reached for his dagger, tried to sidestep away, hoping to gain a more strategic position.

He could not move.

No matter how he strained and struggled, his body refused to so much as twitch.

“No,” replied the queen in that icy voice. “He likes to watch, to see what others are doing, so I say let him be a silent witness.” Her voice fell to a low croon, and she moved forward to grasp the prince’s cock in her hand. The touch burned with arousing heat, making him instantly erect again. Under her power, he sank slowly to his knees until he rested back on his heels. “Let him stay here for a hundred years, unable to move.”

Immediately there was a strange tickling sensation, and the prince realised his body, starting at the feet, was becoming cold, immobile—like stone. Up rushed the spell through bone and muscle and sinew, until the only part he could feel was his cock, still held in the Faery Queen’s hand. Inside he fought, trying still to break free, but the Fey punishment was intractable.

“One hundred years is not enough,” was the king’s response, which the prince hardly heard through the cacophony of anger and fear inundating his head. “I say let him stay here for eternity.”

The queen’s fingers tickled over the prince’s cock one last time, and she laughed. “As you wish, my love. He will make a fine adornment to this, our enchanted glade. A Peeping Tom wrought in marble.” She withdrew her hand and his erect flesh slowly turned to stone, until it matched the rest of his body.

No! The prince tried to say, but no words would come from his throat. I meant no harm. Please, don’t abandon me here like this.

But the king and queen of faery had already disappeared, leaving him to his fate.

Despair arose, as overwhelming as the spell cast by the queen, and the prince cried inwardly, repenting of his sin, although too late.

A rustling sound drew the prince from his misery and,