This is a story I published a long time ago, rewritten. You can find the original in Stories. I'll post a little more on the forum. I hope you enjoy the update.
He reins in just short of the gates of the dark stone castle. No Charming, this Prince. Handsome, easy going. Call him Pleasant, or Amiable. Call him Prince Not-too-bad-all-things-considered. He may not even be a prince. His father, populist king of a small, somewhat democratically-inclined nation, felt that getting a commoner pregnant outside wedlock would not endear the prince to the masses, and disinherited him. Pleasant's younger brother acquired all of his rights and responsibilities, including, in fact, those of servicing his pregnant lover. He wonders how his father will react to finding that his second son will cause him the same embarrassment. Perhaps this time he will try forcing a marriage.
Unwanted at home, the prince chose to seek his fortune in the royal line of another realm. A prince's life is a habit he would prefer not to break.
He eases himself out of the saddle and dismounts. Fifty-five days on horseback is hard even on an experienced rider like our prince. He stretches and looks around.
The gate is hidden behind many years' growth of dense, wide, dark green shoots, with thorns long and sharp. As he watches, the leaves seem to quiver as if aware of the presence of an intruder and guarding against it.
He has researched this carefully. Beginning with rumors and legends, moving on to maps and questions asked of innkeepers, he learned where this castle must be, and what he would find within its walls. His quest took him far afield, through lands perilous, before his final ride. Each night that he stayed in a room, he took pains to acquaint himself with the local lore. He's quite intelligent. Well, for a prince...
He cuts the vegetation away with his sword. It proves easier than he expected; the thorns seem almost to part before his thrusting weapon, as if their guardian stance was a feint. He leads his horse into the castle and secures its reins to a post.
As he enters the first hall, his heart skips a beat. On a cushioned wooden bench lies a young woman, clad in nothing beyond a diaphanous gown. She sleeps peacefully, perfect high breasts rising and falling, clearly visible under the thin, translucent silk. She has long, lustrous, straight dark locks and small, fine features. The short dark hair between her thighs is finely trimmed and clearly visible through the gown. She is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, and he thinks for a moment that he has found what he seeks.
Then he realizes that his princess (because yes, where there is an overgrown castle, with sleeping attendants, there surely must be a sleeping princess) will be at the heart of the castle, not here, out in the hallway. This gorgeous creature must be an attendant. A handmaiden to the princess, perhaps.
He knows he must continue, but he hates the thought of leaving so lovely a figure behind. Then he brightens. When he has found, woken, and married his princess, he'll find this girl and pay her a special visit. Or several. Philandering is an honored tradition among princes and kings, after all. It's almost a job requirement.
He runs the back of a finger over her face, which is soft and warm. Feeling adventurous, he continues down over her breasts. She seems to smile slightly in her sleep. Prince Mostly-okay sighs and continues on.
As he gets closer to the castle's center, he is shocked to find more handmaidens, all asleep, all young and lovely. Every bit as stunning as the first. Contemplating his future, our prince feels exuberant. All of these breathtaking near-naked women, and, it appears, very little competition for their affections. His member has reacted to the sight, feeling sensitive as it brushes against his undergarments. He wonders how the princess would feel about threesomes.
He arrives at a large chamber, with huge wooden doors in arched doorways. He is unexpectedly nervous as he pushes the portal open. It creaks a little, but not loudly. The castle was obviously kept well before its occupants fell into their shared sleep.
Inside the chamber are many more handmaidens, lying back in upholstered sofas, or on cushions on the floor. Each is curled up comfortably. The prince finds this continuing to unsettle him. He isn't a stupid man, or he wouldn't have found this place. It seems strange that each girl found her own attractive resting place just in time for the sleeping enchantment to be cast. And he's uneasy about all of the attendants being such delicately beautiful young women.
Still, faint heart never won fair princess, awake or asleep, and he concentrates his attention on the chamber's centerpiece. Surrounded by the couches and cushions is a massive four-poster bed. It is of a dark, heavy wood, finely carved and gilt-inlaid. It is clearly made for royalty, and is draped with pale, gauzy curtains, through which he can see the faint outline of a woman.
He approaches the bed swiftly, and eases back the curtain to expose the most exquisitely lovely sight his eyes have ever beheld. Thoughts of the women he has seen in the castle, even the first, who he thought would haunt his dreams, are pushed aside.
The girl - the young woman - lying on the bed is beautiful beyond imagining. Her hair is the red of the heart of a campfire, with hints of its golden flames in her curls. It is spread out on the pillow, framing her pale, porcelain-smooth face. Her body is perfection. The filmy gown that all the women wear looks thinner, more transparent on her. It has settled over time into her nipples, emphasizing every tiny ridge and contour. It hugs her breasts and clings to her stomach, dipping slightly into her navel, doing little to hide the red-tinged darkness between her thighs. He can clearly see her narrow waist and the firm muscles of her legs. It stops short of her ankles, which are milky-white, her feet bare and uncallused.
This is his princess. This would be the girl of his dreams, if his imagination could climb so high.
He knows, as does everyone who has heard a legend or read a tale, what he must do.
He leans over the bed and examines her small heart-shaped mouth. With a rush of desire, with nervousness and euphoria, he lowers his face to kiss her.
She does not open her eyes and wrap her arms around his neck. She does not wake and wait for him to ask her to marry him. The castle does not stir. Nothing, in fact, happens.
Prince Pleasant stands, confused. He waits. Perhaps the effects are not instant.
Five minutes later, he's certain that his kiss hasn't worked.
Where there's an enchanted princess, there's also a wicked witch to cast the spell. Would the witch's magic know that he was disinherited? He can't bring himself to believe that. After seeing his fair princess, he can never go back to a life without her. Fate could not be so cruel as to deprive him of her by a mere legal technicality.
Perhaps, rather, it takes more than a peck. So he climbs onto the bed and lies alongside her. He turns her face towards him, opens his mouth and kisses her passionately. Or tries to. He feels perhaps a slight stir in her face (and a much stronger stir in his groin), but no more than that. She keeps gently breathing through her nose, warming his cheek.
He is frustrated by such beauty, so close and yet so distant. His desire is barely contained. He wants to take her, right then and there, awake or not. He's Prince Not-so-bad-for-a-prince, though. While some might even say he was something of a rogue, forcing himself on a woman was never his way, and will not become so. He's almost frustrated with himself for having such scruples, but then he wants this creature to be his, all his, forever.
Instead, he paces about the room, lost in thought.
The small high windows are almost dark when he abandons his quest for the day. Before he sleeps, he finds the stables, leading his stallion there and caring for him.
Returning to the chamber, he finds a couch which is only half-occupied; the girl sitting on it is leaning back into the corner. He makes himself comfortable with his head resting between her breasts. Her warmth feels welcoming, but his frustration makes it hard for him to sleep. Eventually he drifts away.
The next morning he wakes with his hand wrapped around his living pillow. When he realizes where he is and what he's doing, he strokes the breast through its covering gown, cuddling it to his face. Eventually he releases it and stands.
He feeds and waters his horse, then explores the castle. It's a game. Find all of the hidden women. He's found most of them already, but two more lay side by side in an elegant bed in a small - well, a less enormous - chamber beside a well-appointed room housing musical instruments. There's no dust, he notices. It's true everywhere. No dust had gathered on the princess's body. She was warm and soft and oh-so-supple against him.
A stirring in his groin distracts his thinking for a moment, but he pushes it aside. There are many unusual aspects to a castle whose only occupants are near-naked sleeping women, but even Prince Not-really-too-bad can finally see one of the most inexplicable.
There are no servants.
Either that, or the servants are among the enchanted women, but would servants change out of their serving attire to prepare to be enchanted with their mistresses?
It's a problem that his princely mind can recognize, but not solve.
Has he misunderstood the nature of the enchantment? Perhaps the princess isn't at its heart. He recalls another tale, of a woman who found a prick in her bed. No, that's wrong. Was she pricked while in bed? Or was she working? There might have been a spinning wheel in the story, and he thinks he's seen one in a back room, so he marches off to examine the device.
There is a spinning wheel, but no woman has fallen asleep close to it. More significantly, it is a machine of wood, leather and string. There are no pricks here. He is fairly sure he's never seen a spinning wheel with sharp points. Maybe the spinning wheel was from a different story.
Someone could have pricked their finger on a thorn, and still be tangled in the brambles. He hasn't left the castle since his arrival - even the stables are connected to the inside - so he should check.
Expecting to have to hack through more dangerous thorns, he throws open the castle doors, then steps outside, hand on the hilt of his sword, only to find the wild thorn armor has dwindled to a handful of well-maintained rose bushes. He explores the exterior walls, finding no sleeping bodies.
Since the castle grounds are accessible, he washes the clothes he isn't wearing in the quick-flowing brook that winds past the rear of the castle. After wringing them out, he lays them over bushes to dry and considers his progress.
He may be wrong about a prick being involved, but could he be right about the princess not being the core of the sleeping spell? Perhaps one of the handmaidens brought the curse down on the castle. He could try kissing them all.
He starts with the first woman he finds. Just as with the princess, the girl doesn't respond, but she doesn't exactly not respond. Her lips and tongue seem to flicker with a minute pressure, but not to move against his. As if... as if they're moving in her dreams. Is she dreaming of him?
When he finds the first girl he saw, the one with long black hair, he works extra diligently to make her feel him. Again, there's a little twitch of her tongue. His fingers roam down her flimsy garment to her lithe breasts. Well, he isn't Prince Perfect-in-all-circumstances. He's felt breasts before, and not only those of his former lover. This girl's seem vibrant, as if eager to receive his touch, but at the same time, they are no more responsive than her lips.
He rolls a nipple between his finger and thumb, feeling himself stiffen within his clothing. At least there is no one to see his awkward gait.
With reluctance, he lifts himself off the girl. Both of her nipples have become erect. Perhaps she, too, had been returning his kiss in her enchanted dream. The thought doesn't make walking any easier.
When he has found and kissed all of the girls, Prince Maybe-a-little-full-of-himself takes a relaxing break beside the stream. The sun is lowering, and he remains alone with his thoughts despite the beauty just a few paces away. He considers once more trying to wake his princess by making love to her. He again rejects it, but the idea tickles his thoughts and doesn't quite go away. Surely if that was the way to rouse an enchanted princess, it would be part of the stories.
After the sun sets the evening develops a chill. His clothes are dry enough to collect, so he brings them inside, laying them out on convenient furnishings. Seeing the clothes around the princess's chamber reminds him of days with his lover, clothes scattered around her room. He recalls the last time his lips met her body.
A new idea begins to form. At first he rejects it as a close cousin to the one that he's trying to ignore, but it becomes insistent.
He knows that sleeping princesses are woken with a kiss. That's a given. It's legendary.
What the legend doesn't say, though, is how and where to kiss the princess.
When he was with his lover, it wasn't always her lips that required his attention. He is lanced by a shard of jealousy, imagining his brother's face between his former lover's thighs. He wonders if his brother can provoke the same responses in her body that he could. But could that be the key? Not the kiss itself, but the princess's reaction to it. If he kissed her in the right place.
He lets the thought percolate, until he is sure that he has found the answer. It's late in the day to try, and he should probably pick up his clothes again in case of success, so he decides to sleep on it. He curls up next to his princess, with his hand on the silky skin of her stomach.
On the third day in the castle, he rises, tends to his horse, and draws water. He bathes and dons the finest tunic and leggings he has brought, then packs the rest of his clothes away. He has decided to make the attempt.
Back in the chamber of the sleeping princess, he climbs into the huge bed and pulls the curtains closed. He carefully lifts the gown, and raises it over the princess's fine breasts. He smoothes her hair down and kisses her on the mouth, caressing her face.
He repositions her body to give himself more room, then kisses and squeezes her breasts. He isn't sure, but he thinks he hears a slight change in her breathing.
Lowering himself further, he strokes the short curls between her thighs. Parting her lips with his fingers, he nuzzles her intimate center with his nose and tongue. She smells and tastes sweet, as if freshly bathed. The sleeping spell must be renewing her through the years of her curse.
He continues to lick her lips, straining his senses to catch any sign of change in the sleeping woman. For a time, he thinks that this may also be a wasted effort. Soon, however, he notices a distinct change in her breathing, and shortly he feels that she is getting excited and wet. He keeps up the effort, noting slight tensions in her thighs.
Sliding two fingers inside her, he strokes her firmly with the roughness of the thickest part of his tongue. She seems to be growing more excited as he progresses.
He draws his tongue back and curls it around her bud, stroking it directly. She cries out in her sleep and starts to push against his face. He slowly draws his tongue over her, and she responds more strongly. He starts squeezing and flicking the swelling pearl. The girl begins to gasp.
Taking the bud between his lips, he strokes and teases it with his tongue, moving in time with her thrusting, occasionally interrupting his caresses to suck her. When he does that she squeals in her sleep and shakes herself against his face.
As she starts to lose control, he laps furiously with his tongue. He feels her tense strongly. Out of the corner of his eye he sees her hands form into fists. Then with a massive groan she comes, her whole body rippling with the power of her orgasm. The prince ventures a look, and her eyes are wide open, staring at the draperies over the top of the bed. Pleasure and passion flit across her face as the prince continues his efforts. Soon, she shudders again.
When she relaxes, he releases her. Her emerald gaze burns into him, her face and body made for passion. He is rock hard within his fine leggings.
Through the filtering of the curtains, he sees movement as the castle's other occupants are stirring. He looks up at his princess.
Wordlessly, she draws him to her. She fastens her mouth on his and kisses him fiercely, as her fingers expertly unfasten his clothing. He willingly assists in his own disrobing.
After taking off her own robe, the princess pulls him into her. Not gently, but he doesn't care. He starts bucking against her. Her breasts are squashed flat against his chest, and her fingernails are digging into his back. She wraps her legs around him and drags him close, writhing against him, using him to fulfill her need until she climaxes again. Her lips still glued to his, her intense moans drive the prince to crest, and with powerful spasms he empties himself into her. As she takes in the extra stimulation he feels her nails burying themselves into his back, drawing blood.
She doesn't release him immediately, still using his body to keep herself high. When she finally unwraps her legs and lets him withdraw, they are both exhausted.
Through the translucent gauze curtain, he sees that the women in this chamber have awoken and are sitting or moving around. He sees a door open and other handmaidens enter the room.
As he opens his mouth to introduce himself, the curtain is pulled back savagely. He grabs the closest thing to hide himself, which happens to be the princess's gown, and holds it self-consciously before him.
The princess is visibly annoyed, but the newcomer is not rebuffed. "So, do you plan to keep him all to yourself?" she asks the princess, sharply.
"No, Mara," replies the princess, gently, "but I did at least want to know our liberator's name." Turning to our prince, she says in her musical voice, "I am the princess Elese. This is my younger sister Mara. Although she seems a little impetuous, we have been asleep for a long time, with nothing to comfort us but dreams. After my wonderful awakening, I can not fault her if she wants the same."
The prince introduces himself. He is torn between his need for his new-found princess and desire for all of these beauties. Princess Mara is also lovely. Her petulant mouth detracts from a face otherwise constructed of her sister's features, and the same hair of fire as Elese. Her skin is more a robust peach than the pale porcelain of her sister. She is still beautiful, beyond the reach of any pretty woman he had seen before arriving here, falling short, and not by far, only in comparison to her elder sister.
It seems that his princess wants him to pleasure her sister. That custom is alien to his upbringing, but if he can please his newly-discovered heart's desire and still spread his attentions widely, well, he isn't likely to complain.
He faces Princess Mara. "My lady, it is an honor and a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I regret, however, that your lovely lady sister has quite robbed me of the ability to bring you the joys you so clearly deserve."
"Oh, don't be silly," says Mara, briskly. "Sister?"
At this, Elese reaches out and retrieves her gown from the prince, who looks a little shamefaced, and climbs off the bed, closing the curtains behind her.
"Now..." Mara continues. She pulls her gown over her head, and kneels in front of the prince. She pulls his face to her full breasts. As he nibbles on the proffered wonders, she extends a finger to stroke his cock.
Immediately, our prince feels a surge, and he hardens almost instantly. He knows that she has used some power to achieve this result. He can't believe his fortune. Not only two (or more, or many, he's unsure how far Princess Elese's generosity will extend) wonderful women, but the ability to satisfy them, and himself, at will. He wants to shout with delight.
Mara pushes him down, so that he lies on his back, newly-erect member in the air. She straddles him, stroking herself with his shaft until he feels her soft fur becoming slick. Then she impales herself on him and begins to move against him, still upright.
She lifts his hands and places them on her breasts. He squeezes as they build up momentum, passion crossing her lovely features. She grasps his hips to squeeze her body hard against his, driving him deep inside her. She slows down when she's ready to come, stroking along his cock, the sounds she makes showing the growing intensity of her need. When she tightens around him, crying out as her body convulses, he loses control and comes himself, muscles contracting violently, his balls aching from being called into service too soon after he spent himself inside Elese.
When she's through, she lifts herself off him, grabs her gown and climbs down from the bed without a word. She yanks the curtain open as she did to enter, and our Prince Amiable is treated to the sight of most of the women he's seen sitting around on couch and cushion, talking animatedly to one another, several staring speculatively at him. The princess is sitting with the black-haired girl on a couch, both smiling as they watch him.
The two girls who were sharing the chamber beside the music room are not present. Perhaps the enchantment takes time to disperse, and its passing has not yet affected them. Perhaps they are practising their music.
Prince Not-that-smart-sometimes is, well, that, in some circumstances.
A girl with golden curls stands. She moves to the back of the couch, leaning down to whisper to Princess Elese, who nods to her. Wending her way toward the prince, she gives him a shy smile, before climbing onto the bed and closing the curtain.
"I am Yasemi," she says, her cheeks flushed. "I am first cousin to Princess Elese, who gave me permission to introduce myself to your grace, and to ask if you desire me, as I desire you."
The girl's cheeks flame hotter as she admits this.
"Is everyone waiting for their turn?" asks the prince, sounding peevish to himself.
"Most are, sir, yes," states Yasemi. "I admit to being very forward to approach the princess as I did."
Forward is not how the prince sees her, with her downcast eyes and captivating blushes. He does desire her, however. His goal of wedding the princess and ruling the land by her side is becoming more complicated by each visitor, but Elese is permitting or even encouraging her retinue to share their bodies with him. Complications, perhaps, but he can get used to the situation.
"And will everyone expect me to perform on this bed, in full view of the court?" he asks, not entirely comfortable with tossing aside years of decorum.
"We all enjoy the happiness of our community," says Yasemi. "Although we could find a more private place if you prefer, your grace."
Prince Pleasant looks at his clothes littering the bed. He would have to dress, then suffer the ordeal of being watched by so many pairs of eyes, each girl knowing where he is going and what he will be doing in private, while they gossip without modesty. He shakes his head. "No, Lady Yasemi, I desire you right here."
Yasemi's cheeks burn again as she approaches him. Her arms wrap around him as they kiss, groans rising in her chest as he caresses her breasts through her silk garment.
Breathing heavily, the girl strips off her gown, then lies back on her elbows, legs parted. Even an occasionally clueless prince knows what she wants from him. Maybe if he can take his time, his balls will be less sore. He stretches out before her, face down, the bed so large that his feet do not hang over the end, and begins to lick her inner thighs.
Yasemi's shyness doesn't translate into reticence about her passion. She moans even before his tongue meets her lips. When it teases her delicate rosebud, she cries aloud, her hips shifting, her body writhing from side to side. Let her community share her happiness. The prince is getting hard again, far sooner than he would have expected.
Sliding his hands up the girl's body, he squeezes and kneads her breasts, pinching and stretching her firm nipples. She gasps and thrusts against his face, her back arching. She clearly is ready for him to push her over the edge. He tries to oblige, but Yasemi grasps his ears and tugs him away.
Our prince yelps at the pain, but complies when she beckons him forward. She's so wet that he slides easily into her as he lowers his body onto hers, their lips connecting. She moves slowly beneath him, her urgency seeming to have slipped away as they each devour the other's tongue. There's lust in her kiss, but a languorous need that feels like tenderness, a closer emotional connection even than he found with Princess Elese. He wonders if Elese is aware just how freely her companions are taking her consent.
Yasemi's hips begin to thrust upward, causing the prince to bounce against her, his member sliding within her from shallow to more deeply than he's ever known. He feels her full breasts ripple against his chest before her back arches and she clamps him against her, arms around his back, legs around his thighs, his shaft gripped in a series of powerful spasms. He's unable to prevent his own reaction as his seed gushes forth.
Again, his overspent muscles ache. Each woman has taken so much from him, but Yasemi more than the sisters. Yet, somehow, he remains hard within her, feeling her body pulse around his for minutes before she relaxes, panting softly.
He tries to withdraw, but the girl shakes her head, giving him an affectionate smile. "Not yet, my prince," she whispers, before rolling him onto his back.
The prince is unable to refuse her. Not because he's enamoured of her, though he is, or wants to please her, though he does, but because his body is not responding to his will. While he knows that he's trying to withdraw, he can feel the enraptured smile on his face as Yasemi lifts herself to her elbows, her full breasts swaying over him, hard nipples at times dragging through the hair of his chest. She slides herself along his shaft, occasionally lowering her face for a passionate kiss.
With perfect timing, he again comes with her, even though there is no way he is capable of doing that, and even though each orgasm spreads the pain from his groin into his body. He needs to take a break. Yet, at the same time, he needs to make love to this pink-cheeked, golden-haired beauty, to be as intimate with her as he can possibly be.
He aches through three more delicious climaxes, each timed perfectly with Yasemi's. When she finally eases herself from him, she gives him a softly-satisfied smile. He returns it, outwardly content while his body screams in pain he can't express. He's certain that if his member suffers any more abuse, he'll soon have additional pain from chafing.
The girl gives him a brief but intense kiss before slipping down from the bed, leaving the curtain closed. He hears a woman gently chiding her for taking so long.
He doesn't recognize that voice, but can identify Yasemi saying, "It was worth every moment," followed by a chuckle from everyone in the room.
Our exhausted prince tries to find the will to put on his clothes and offer excuses until he has recovered, but he's not able to make himself move. He's the worse for wear. His cock, now limp, is tender, while his balls feel like they've been kicked. Hard. Muscles he didn't know he had are clamoring for attention.
And yet, when the curtain draws back just far enough to admit the black-haired girl he first saw, his chest swells with excitement. He has wanted her since he saw her. He wants to touch the dark place between her thighs. Pinching her nipple has left him wanting to explore her breasts with his lips and tongue. He wants to kiss her gentle face with its fine features.
"Hello," she says. "I'm Lanne. I'm glad you're here." She slips off her gown, exposing her dark nipples on high, pointed breasts, and the dark hair between her legs.
"I'm glad you're here, too, Lanne," says the prince. And the words are true, yet his body rebels at him saying them. He manages to force himself to say, "But I need time to recover before..." His voice fades as the truth retreats within him.
"No, you don't," responds Lanne, stroking his cock. Again, it unfurls, taking the shape of his desire. "I know you want to be with me."
Indeed, when the prince examines his feelings, he realizes that he needs Lanne as much as he earlier needed his flame-haired princess, even as he rebels at the pain and loss of will. He is unable to speak, to ask her to release him, because that part of his mind is completely subsumed by his desire for her.
"I hope you want me for a long, long time," she continues, as she draws him upright, then sits in his lap, wrapping her legs around his hips, dark fur meeting his rigid member. She draws his mouth down to her breast. "Our last prince wore out in less than a year. That isn't nearly long enough."
Panic strikes Prince Pleasant in those parts of his thoughts which aren't beholden to her. He manages a small grunt of query. "Your... last prince?"
"Yes, of course," she says, her hands joining behind his head, holding his face against her. "When he was used up, Elese put us back to sleep. I don't like dreams. I like the real thing."
"But what about the wicked witch?" asks the prince, plaintively.
She draws back from him, though not far enough to let her nipple slide from his mouth, and looks into his eyes. "Wicked? No, I wouldn't say we were wicked."
Lanne lifts her body, then slides it slowly over his raw, tender cock. As he enters her, the truth slowly creeps into what is left of his will. Even as he smiles in pleasure and finds her other breast with his mouth, his muscles protest wildly in pain, and deep within his soul he begins to scream.