The Empress's New Lingerie and Other Erotic Fairy Tales Read Online Free Page B

impossibly cinched waist. But it was not the beauty of her face or figure that reduced me to this quivering goddess worship.
    What then? Her soul? The gentleness of her spirit, the qualities of kindness and munificence that poured forth from her? I now know that she truly had such inner beauty, evidenced by the fact that she’d ministered to the needs of a doddering father, his evil wife, and two vain and selfish stepsisters without a whisper of complaint. Perhaps you think her a fool for allowing herself to be so used, for agreeing to cook, clean, and sweep the ashes from her family’s barbarous hearth. After all, since the death of her mother, she was the rightful mistress of the house and should not have been reduced to the role of scullery maid. But it was out of her deeply caring nature, and especially her love for her elderly father who was too infirm to realize the depth of his daughter’s humiliation at the hands of the she-devils who’d interpolated themselves into their lives, that the maiden felt she was duty-bound. Still, admire them as I might, it was not these attributes of goodness and charity that initially attracted me to my angel, for when I first laid eyes upon the girl I knew nothing of her circumstances.
    That auspicious sighting occurred at the fancy-dress ball I hosted under the guise of entertaining the neighborhood—an affair I throw every year to share some of the fruits of royalty with my deserving subjects in gratitude for their loyal service and obedience. But this year’s event was motivated by a more personal agenda: I dearly wished to find a wife. Of course I preferred not to advertise this fact as I thought it somewhat demeaning that I should be, in effect, shopping for a mate. But somehow all the eligible damsels in the province got wind of my intentions and a record number of marriageable lasses turned out, tarted-up and eager to “land a liege.” With so many jeunes filles to choose from, you would think I’d discover my bride in no time. But truth be told, I have very…shall we say, “particular” tastes in women. And when a prince’s tastes are particular, perhaps even a tad peculiar, it’s not so easy to match him with his perfect princess.
    That night I danced with girl after girl, hoping one of them would meet my requirements and ignite my desires. But no one even raised a spark. And it was not for lack of trying on their parts. Most ladies wore gowns so low cut that the edges of their brownish-pink areolas peeked over the top of the neckline, and I knew this was intended to make me grow rock hard and completely irrational. I knew, too, that they expected me to bury my face in their bosoms during a dramatic dip in the gavotte to take a surreptitious bite out of these flesh-apples pushed upward beneath their bodices like offerings at a banquet. So to satisfy their expectations, and perhaps their cravings, I ran my long tongue deep into each maiden’s perfumed décolletage and nibbled with gusto on their breasts. I felt their nipples tighten and wrinkle up like ambrosia berries until the tips grew purple and throbbing. One after another, I would sashay my partners behind the camouflage of some marble column or velvet drapery and there I would greedily reach inside their gowns and pull their tits up over the scoop necks to suck on their protruding nipples with the grunts and sighs of a madman. As I pressed an insistent knee against the heavy brocade of their skirts, searching for the hidden “v” between their legs, I would run my tongue up their chests to the delicate arch of their necks, their chins, their waiting mouths, and then back down to their aching nipples. This made some women delightfully agitated; they returned the pressure of torso against torso, they rubbed their thighs together beneath their sumptuous petticoats and squirmed in my arms like exotic fish. Others—those with the tiny, exquisitely