He reins in just short of the gates of the dark stone castle. No Charming, this prince. Handsome, easy going. Just call him Pleasant. Not even a prince, perhaps. 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, that of sleeping with his former lover, which fact has not yet become known to the king.

He eases himself out of the saddle and dismounts. 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 brambles. The thorns are long and sharp. As he watches, the leaves seem to quiver as if guarding the entrance.

He has researched this carefully. Beginning with rumors and legends, working with maps and questions asked of innkeepers, he learned where this castle must be, and what he will find in it. He's quite intelligent that way, for a prince.

He draws his sword to cut the vegetation away. It proves easier than he expected; the thorns seem almost to part before him. He leads his horse into the castle and ties him up.

As he enters the hall, his heart skips a beat. On a cushioned wooden bench lies a young woman, clad in a diaphanous gown... and nothing else. She sleeps peacefully, her breasts rising and falling under the thin translucent silk. She has long, lustrous, straight dark hair and small, fine features. 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 (yes, where there is an overgrown castle, with sleeping attendants, there must be a sleeping princess) will be at the heart of the castle, not out in a hallway. This gorgeous creature must be an attendant. He knows he will have to 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; almost a required one, in fact.

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 Pleasant sighs and continues on.

As he gets closer to the castle's center, he is shocked to find more attendants, all asleep, all female, all young and lovely. Every bit as stunning as the first. Contemplating his future, our prince feels exuberant. He's also aroused and slightly flushed.

He arrives at a large chamber, with huge wooden doors in arched doorways. Slightly nervous, he pushes the door open. It creaks a little, but not badly. The castle was obviously kept well before the spell was cast.

Inside the chamber are many attendants, lying back in upholstered sofas, or on cushions on the floor. Each is curled up comfortably. They must have known the spell was to be cast and planned for it. Pleasant finds this unsettling. He isn't a stupid man, or he wouldn't have found this place. He doesn't understand why the wicked witch (yes, where there is a castle full of sleeping attendants and, presumably, a princess, there surely has to be a wicked witch to cast the spell) would have given them warning. And he's uneasy about all of the attendants being enchantingly 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 draped with gauzy curtains, through which he can see the faint outline of a woman.

He approaches the bed swiftly, and pulls 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, whom 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 red, fiery red, with hints of gold in the curls. It is spread out on the pillow, framing her pale, porcelain-smooth face. Her body is perfection. The filmy gown that all of the attendants 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, and showing reddish 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 and unlined.

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 looks at her small heart-shaped mouth. With an adrenaline rush, with nervousness and euphoria, he lowers his face and kisses 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.

Will the magic not work for a disinherited prince? 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 that's all. He feels her breathing through her nose, warming his cheek.

He is frustrated by such beauty, so close and so distant. His desire is barely contained. He wants to take her, right then and there, awake or not. He's Pleasant, though. Not Charming, perhaps; some might even say he was something of a rogue. But he won't rape her. That 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 and cares for his horse.

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 the girl's breasts. His frustration makes it hard for him to sleep, but 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 returns to the sleeping chamber to think.

He considers once more trying to wake his princess by making love to her, but again rejects it as being rape. The idea tickles his thoughts and doesn't quite go away.

In mid-afternoon a new idea begins to form. At first he rejects it as a close cousin to rape, 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.

He has assumed... But thinking about the girl he has left behind, he realizes that if he asked her where she most wanted to be kissed, she would not say on the mouth... and the understanding comes to him that it isn't the kissing which will wake the princess, it is her response to the kissing which is the key.

He lets the thought percolate, until he is sure that he has found the answer. He decides to sleep on it, and curls up next to his princess, with his hand on her delicate stomach.


On the third day in the castle, he rises, tends to his horse, and draws water. He bathes and dons the finest clothes he has with him. 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 pulls it over the princess's head. 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 her pussy. He parts it with his fingers, and nuzzles it with his nose and tongue. She smells and tastes fresh, as though she just bathed. The sleeping spell maintains her.

He strokes her pussy lips with his tongue. After a short time he begins to think that this is also a wasted effort. Soon after that, 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.

He puts his tongue and two fingers inside her, and strokes her firmly with the roughness of the thickest part of his tongue. She grows more excited as he progresses.

He pulls his tongue back out and curls it around her clit, stroking it directly. She cries out in her sleep and starts to push against his face. He slowly draws on her clit, and she begins to respond more strongly. He starts squeezing and flicking her clit, and she begins to gasp.

He takes her clit between his lips and strokes and scratches it with his tongue. He strokes in time with her thrusting, occasionally not stroking but keeping a suction against her. When he does that she squeals in her sleep and shakes herself against his face.

As she starts to lose control, he scrubs 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. Pleasant 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 the effort.

When she finally shudders and relaxes, he releases her. Her emerald gaze burns into him, her face and body made for passion.

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.

She 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 pulls him against her, writhing against him, using him to fulfill her need as she climaxes. As she moans, her lips still glued to his, he crests, 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 fabric he see several of the women have gathered around the bed. Still others appear to be holding each other in pairs (usually), touching one another in ways that definitely weren't considered polite in his princedom.

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 said 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 love for his new-found princess and desire for all of these beauties. Princess Mara is less lovely than his Elese. Her petulant mouth detracts from a face otherwise built from her sister's features, and the same hair of fire as Elese. Her skin is slightly more strongly colored, not the thin porcelain of her sister. Nevertheless, she is still beautiful, beyond the reach of any pretty woman he had seen before arriving here.

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.

"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 reaches down and strokes his cock.

Immediately, our prince feels a surge, and his cock 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, 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 reaches down and touches her pussy, holding herself against his shaft. She slows down when she's ready to come, stroking along his cock, collecting power. When she tightens her muscles and comes, he loses control and comes himself, his balls aching as his muscles contract violently.

When she's through, she lifts herself off him, grabs her gown and climbs out of the bed without a word. Our prince is feeling the worse for wear. His cock is beginning to feel raw, and all of his muscles are aching with abuse. His balls feel like they've been kicked.

Another face appears at the curtain. It's the gentle face of the first woman he encountered, the one asleep in the hallway. The one he so wanted to see again, to kiss, to share with. She looks shy, and her eyes are cast down as she climbs onto the bed.

"Hello," she says. "I'm Lanna. I'm glad you're here." She slips off her gown, exposing her dark nipples on rounded breasts, and the dark hair between her legs.

"I'm glad you're here, too, Lanna," says the prince, "but I need time to recover before..." His words trail off.

"No, you don't," responds Lanna, stroking his cock. Again, it springs to attention. "I know you want me, because I made it so."

Indeed, when the prince examines his feelings, he realizes that he wants Lanna as much as he earlier wanted his flame-haired princess. With another part of his mind, he rebels, suffering 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 impales herself on him. She lies down, seeking his mouth. "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, lying down along his body. "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 lifts herself onto her elbows, her nipples grazing his chest, and looks into his eyes. "Wicked? No, I wouldn't say we were wicked."

As she slides against his raw, tender cock, the truth slowly creeps into what is left of his will. Even as he smiles in pleasure and holds her breast to his mouth, his muscles protest wildly in pain, and deep within his soul he begins to scream.