Chapter Seven

“I’m going to be his wife” She gasped as Idril bathed her tiny pussy in adoring licks and kisses. “I’m going to be HIS wife.”

They were back in their adjoined apartments with no recollection of how they got there.

It didn’t matter. All that was of importance was the many likenesses of Prince Seberin, in all his glorious Majesty–may he rule for a thousand years–hung upon every available surface of their spacious rooms. He was everywhere. On the walls, on the ceiling, on viewing stands crammed into corners where less attractive furniture once dwelled.

Really, there was only the vast bed, a few wardrobes stuffed with even more risqué clothing than this mornings poultry proferrings and HIM.

Handsome Prince Seberin standing atop the massive corpse of a slain dragon–bare chested with his vorpal sword held aloft–with two starry-eyed bombshells, dressed only in broken chains, wrapped worshipfully around his muscular calves.

Rugged Prince Seberin getting vigorously throated by the angelic captain of a squad of winged valkyries, each one a breathtaking heavenly beauty looking on in obvious envy as their golden-haired superior gagged and slobbered messily on his high-born manmeat.

Hunky Prince Seberin buried balls deep in a succubus's crimson cunt. Her supernaturally shapely legs shot out straight on either side of his powerfully pumping hips as her twisted, usually haughty features, warped into a horned visage of blissful, servile surrender. A distinctly princely bulge invading her otherwise defined, toned abdomen as her cloven hooves waved in the air above her.

“I’m going to be his wife and give him dozens of babies.”

Just the thought of her trim little tummy swelling huge with that majestic Man’s young caused another pseudo climax to pulse through her splayed out figure as she clawed at the luxurious sheets and squirted her hot nectar into Idril’s lovingly lashing tongue.

“Mmmhmmm~...” Her faithful handmaiden agreed through her faceful of high elven muff.

Idril had always been a skilled bedroom companion and her lingual attentions were appreciated but throughout a long sweaty afternoon of pursuing sensual sapphic delight, the beguiling wood elf had been playing second fiddle to the arresting images of you-know-who.

Each small glance or brief contemplation of his majestic magnificence gifted the groaning, writhing Princess with another pussy-soaking not-quite-orgasm that left her breathless, momentarily blissed out and desperately hungry for more.

She hadn’t missed the fact that Idril was constantly fingering herself beneath the raised hem of her revealing maroon mini dress as she licked. Or the way she kept stealing glances at a particularly fine depiction of the Prince relaxing naked in a clear forest pool with a trio of excitable wood nymphs worshiping his jutting length whenever she paused to catch her breath.

The naughty nymphs each had chestnut hair, tanned skin and pointy ears like her and Erulia concluded that her friend was enjoying a short moment of imagined juxtaposition.

A little mental self insertion to spice up the scintillating pleasure of Idril’s more physical insertions into herself.

“I’m going to grow round as a goodberry and have to be carried around the palace with how incredibly pregnant he’s going to make me.” Erulia groaned, smearing her sodden lower lips across Idril’s moist mouth and blushing cheeks. “I’ll birth him strong sons and beautiful daughters then climb straight back onto his exalted erection until he packs me full of his potent royal seed again. How could I not get pregnant after something like that?”

Her words tapered off as another electric shiver quaked her trembling core and her shaky knees came together to squeeze her slathering handmaid's pretty skull tighter against her gushing nethers.

From the jubilant sounds coming from between her clamping thighs, Idril just crested the same prurient peak in a salacious show of sinful solidarity.

“Mmmnnph~! Stop… Idril, stop. I need a break.” Erulia chuffed, wiping stray platinum strands out of her eyes. “We need to think clearly about all of… this.”

“Mmmmmm… Yes, my Lady.”

They scooted up on the bed until they were seated against the looming bedhead and the Princess rested her dizzy head against her friend's comforting shoulder. Idril’s stunning face looked like it had been dipped in a jar of aloe, and her rosy lips were puffy, bruised from the feverish hours of oral ministrations.

Both of their hands quested for the side tables for the cooling cups of herbal tea waiting there as they closed their eyes and caught their collective breath. The indistinct crash of the castle's enchanted wards calmed Erulia’s racing heart like surf breaking on a distant shore.

“It’s suspicious, right? Nefarious. The way they took our belongings and restricted our movement.” She sipped the fragrant brew to wet her dry throat. “The unquenchable heat of my desires for a complete stranger and now this.”

She indicated a small box sitting beside the teapot next to the bed. It was carved and varnished oak with little brass hinges affixing the open lid. Sparkling within the velvet-line interior were dozens of shiny glass vials filled with purple liquid.

A whiff of rose blossom tickled her nostrils.

“The Prince is very handsome, Erulia.” Idril commented sleepily, nuzzling in closer. “Tall, dashing and strong with a huge–”

“Don’t start that again or we’ll be up half the night. I’m talking about all the magic and these… what did she call them? Draughts of Fecundity. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

“No, do you want me to take another? They taste pretty good and make my skin tingle in a nice way.”

What had the Queen said? The potion was supposed to harden her body to bear the Crown Prince’s children. By the Gods, just the passing notion made Erulia want to pin her drowsy friend to the bed and hump her like a hellcat in heat.

She gave Idril a surreptitious once over, trying to spot any changes in her lithe physique. The strapless, clingy dress she was wearing did appear a bit tighter in the hips and did the wood elf have that much curve to her chest this morning? The skirtline was riding a few inches higher than would be considered appropriate in the Mithril Spires but was probably fine in this castle full of underdressed servants and ladies.

Her own clothing had been discarded hours ago. Panties too but the white chiffon of the simple bandeau bralette she was wearing was stretched fairly tight over her own pert breasts. Her rosebud nipples felt sore from rubbing within the expensive fabric but that could also be due to the fits of arousal.

Then again, Erulia had a high elf’s resistance to magic that Idril lacked and if the alchemical solution was truly what kept the Queen so young, undeniably beautiful and full figured…

It couldn’t hurt to try. Probably.

“Maybe we can take one or two more, but first we cover the paintings. Otherwise we’re not going to get anything done this evening.”

“If you insist, Princess.” Idril sighed unhappily. “If you insist.”

Empty glass vessels tinkled together on the mattress as Erulia licked her lips.

All she could taste was star anise and tangy rosewater.

She was kneeling on the bed facing her autumn-haired friend with the box of purple potions set squarely between them. Around the room, sheets hung over the mounted and standing portraits by means of much averted eyes and shuffling feet a short while earlier.

The ones on the roof were more problematic. They had simply promised each other not to look upwards until this matter was resolved.

“That was four each. Feeling anything?” She asked, gliding her hands down her nubile form and checking for changes. “My skin feels extra sensitive but nothing else on my end.”

It wasn’t a lie. She couldn’t stop rubbing her alabaster flesh. Touching and caressing her slender thighs, taut tummy and small breasts. Her pulsating elfhood was strictly off-limits, no matter how much Erulia desired to bury a few knuckles into her virginal flower.

“I’m not sure. Um, do I need to keep the stupid dress on?” Idril whined, she was touching herself too. Running greedy hands over her hips and chest, plucking at the form-fitting orange lace and, most strangely, occasionally reaching up tug at handfuls of her flowing chestnut hair.

Was that growing longer and why did she keep groaning like that when she pulled it?

“Yes. It serves as a metric to measure any changes to your body. It’s the only one we have.”

Erulia herself had removed the troublesome bra–it had begun to pinch unpleasantly–and kneeled bare as the day she was born, examining the wood elf’s striking figure. Idril was lean and flexible, her body honed to a keen edge by countless hours practicing her mystic blade arts.

Something was definitely happening though. The sexy soiree gown was riding further up legs with more muscle definition than before and being pushed out by an ass that was gradually gaining new contours. Clear outlines of stiff nipples pressed against the thin front of the strapless dress and the bustline was filling out slowly but noticeably.

…and Idril’s inflamed lips hadn’t gone down to their usual thin line despite an hour without eating pussy. Their puffy, bruised condition had merely receded to a pouty beestung appearance that Erulia mildly envied.

Her best friend looked imminently kissable and she was sorely tempted to lean in to taste that cushiony softness for herself.

“If you say so, Princess.” Idril croaked, shuddering deliciously as she downed her fifth purple vial. “Only… it feels unfair that you get to be all nude and baring your tiny titties to me while I am stuck in this slutty little outfit.”

Tiny titties? Idril had been in possession of a chest of a slightly respectable size for all of ten minutes and she was already throwing shade. The cheek!

Erulia pulled the wooden box of clanking glass vials closer to herself with an irritated sniff and tossed her starlight hair dramatically as she turned her nose up at the mouthy wood elf.

“I think that’s enough for you, handmaiden.” She huffed, opening two potions at once and bathing the room in their floral scent. “I am the one who will be carrying Prince Seberin’s heirs after all. This magic is wasted on you.”

Then she slugged down both vials like an ill advised adventurer shooting dwarvish spirits in a rowdy tavern, shuddering as the aromatic liquid slipped down her slender throat, then squawked with indignation as Idril snatched another from the velvet lined case.

“I don’t know,” The wood elf sneered as she popped the cork with a thumbnail. “Her royal highness hasn’t objected to my participation in the proceedings thus far. Maybe it is time for one of the forest kin to shine instead of the prissy high elves stuck up in their lofty ivory towers.”

“They’re called the Mithril Spires, you tree-hugging harlot!”

Hands flew, glass clinked and a matched set of pure elven voices moaned and gurgled as they wrestled over and chugged down the remaining stash of precious purple potions.

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