There’s nothing like a gangbang

Thinking it odd that Althesire would wait until now to ask about his culinary preferences, Stewart decides a buffet would probably be the easiest way to conduct business and to socialize. He tells Adella his choice, and she interprets for their host.

“The king would like to be pleasured by a gangbang.”

Althesire claps his hands together in delight. “A gangbang! You will enjoy pumping your phallus into every available orifice! I, myself, will savor filling the princess with my ‘special sauce.’ I trust she will squeal with orgasmic ecstasy as her vagina is filled with my copious seminal fluids! But for now, come, and let us engage in oral sex at once!”

Althesire takes Stewart by the arm and leads him toward the far side of the room. Stewart turns toward his sister and says, “This would be a really good time for you to see what you can find out. I doubt I will have much need for a translator while we are eating.” He takes a few more steps before stopping and again addressing his sister. “He really isn’t about to take me somewhere and expect that we’re going to blow each other, is he?”

Adella toys with the idea of teasing her brother, but decides he is stressed enough. “No... As amusing as that would be to watch, he’s just saying he wants to go introduce you to a bunch of people.”

“And what of his wish to fill you with his ‘special sauce’?”

Again, Adella looks troubled. “I admit, that’s a new one for me. I have to believe that it just means he is anxious to have us sample some of the local delicacies, and he is confident that once we begin tasting the local dishes, we won’t stop until we are quite full.”

Before he can ask further about this, Althesire urges the king onward toward a group of guests. Stewart looks over his shoulder and sees his sister walking in the other direction toward another group of guests, in hopes of finding out more about the Nymphite culture and the delicate question of unplanned pregnancies.

Stewart refocuses his attention on the gathering of people in front of him. At the center of the group is a tall bearded man, who looks quite human. In fact, he largely resembles Stewart’s recently-deceased father, King Malcolm.

Althesire gestures toward the man and says, “Lucas Dorbysire, Sperm Donor of the Widowhood of Pole Dancers.”

The man extends his hand to the king and bows at the neck. Stewart says, “A pleasure,” as he wonders if he just heard a heraldic title for the man or a description of his exploits.

Althesire then gestures toward the others in the group. Stewart gets a good look at them for the first time. What, at first glance, appeared to be three women, is, on closer inspection, something quite different. Each woman is decidedly female, with exposed breasts and tall, stately bodies. What at first appeared to be long fingernails, however, are actually extensions of their fingers. Long, pointed, and occasionally knotty, they look as if small branches were extending from their hands. The women’s faces are human in appearance, but their hair is bushy and wild. Something about the overall effect suggests that these women would be much more comfortable outdoors than in this ballroom.

“The Ladies of the Wood,” says Althesire, indicating each one in turn. “Lady Flora, Madam Ivy, and Dame Hemlock, the daughters of Redwood, the Holder of the Wooden Scrotum and Deflowerer of the Sapling Virgin.”

Each of the ladies curtsies before the king. Stewart nods in acknowledgement and says, “Charmed, I’m sure.”

Althesire claps his hands together in excitement, as if a wonderful idea just struck him.

“Lady Flora, cup His Majesty’s testicles and tickle his anus with your leafy pleasure providers!”

Instinctively, Stewart turns to his side, awaiting Adella’s translation. When he doesn’t see her, he begins to wonder at the wisdom of being separated from her at this time.

Lady Flora smiles with a cryptic turn of the corners of her mouth and closes the distance between herself and the king. Placing a hand on his arm, she squeezes it gently. Stewart notices that although her skin appears to be smooth, her touch is actually somewhat rough and scratchy, as if her hand were actually fabricated out of wood.

“Do you enjoy being anally stimulated? I have palpated multitudinous recta and brought countless young men to ejaculation.”

Stewart recognizes that she is wanting an answer and searches his mind for any possible meaning to give to her words. Adella told him that this was all about food. “Who in their right mind connects a butthole to the dinner table?” he thinks, furiously. “Maybe she’s asking if I like rump roast.”

Feeling a bead of sweat on his forehead, he nods and says, “Yes, that would be lovely.”

With a broad smile, Lady Fauna reaches under the king’s loincloth and cups his balls in the palm of her hand. Stewart is so stunned that he doesn’t move. He stands there, feeling her juggle his testicles back and forth in her rough-yet-strangely-sensuous palm.

He licks his lips and is about to speak, when he feels a ticklish sensation move along the bottom of his scrotum and advance decisively to his anus.

Again robbed of any ability to speak or move, he tenses, wondering what she has planned for him. He braces himself for a wooden invasion of his hole and desperately hopes it will not create a diplomatic snafu if he screams and runs away.

Instead of the feared anal violation, however, he jumps when he feels a ticklish and sensuous soft something suddenly take the place of Lady Flora’s sticklike finger and move erotically over and around his ass.

A moan escapes his lips before he realizes that it is not the most kingly sound to make in a diplomatic setting. Of course, he tells himself, nothing in his training prepared him for what to say while conducting negotiations when you are wearing only a loincloth, getting felt up by a topless tree woman.

After a few moments of this sensual experience, the woman withdraws her hand and shows Stewart the green leaf that had sprouted from her finger’s tip. She smiles proudly and looks down at the front of Stewart’s loincloth, which is now lifted up by his erection.

“She makes you hard, no?” asks Althesire, unnecessarily. He leans toward the king and lowers his voice as he says, “Lady Ivy causes rashes all over one’s genitals. Her juices are sweet, but your orgasms will be painful.”

Stewart nods, wondering whether that was a reference to some toxic plant oils, or whether she carried some sort of venereal disease. Either way, Stewart made a mental note to avoid letting her have access beneath his loincloth.

He looks around the room, wondering if Adella is having any success with her mission. He sees her on the far side of the room, and at first, he wonders if something has happened to cause her to lose consciousness while standing up. Her eyes are closed, and her head is turned upward. Her lips are parted, and she seems to be making some kind of sound, but he cannot hear her over the din of the guests’ conversations.

At that moment, a person who had been partially obstructing Stewart’s view steps out of the way, and he sees the cause of Adella’s condition. A short man stands next to her. Like the other male guests, he is dressed in a loincloth. His height would make him about 12 years old if he were human, but his long beard and weathered expression gives him the appearance of being at least four times that age. Even from this distance, Stewart can see that the man’s eyes are fixedly staring at Adella’s breasts, and one of his hands extends under the front of his loincloth, moving in a repetitive manner.

While that would disconcerting enough, it is the man’s beard that primarily attract’s Stewart’s attention. Rather than hang limply from his chin, the beard appears to be a living thing, animated and reaching away from the man’s face as if it were an arm.

The beard seems to have a mind of its own, and while its owner continues to pleasure himself at the sight of Adella, the beard conducts a serpentine exploration of his sister’s mostly-nude body. Stewart watches with a mixture of outrage, fascination, and eroticism as the fibrous end of the long, narrow beard lick delicately over Adella’s nipples, in between her breasts, and continue downward to tickle and explore her navel.

If such behavior is improper in this culture, the other guests are doing a magnificent job of hiding their outrage. Rather, those in Adella’s immediate area watch the spectacle. Some smile and seem to be engaging in smalltalk about the reaction of the princess to this intimate interaction with the animated facial hair. Others appear to be encouraged by such forwardness and have been driven to their own little public displays of intimacy.

Seeing the blissful look on Adella’s face and watching the sensual exploration of her body has done little to cure Stewart’s erection. His boner lifts the flap of his loincloth completely, leaving his balls dangling in plain sight of anyone who cares to look. He takes a champagne glass from a passing topless waitress and attempts to casually hold it in front of his crotch. The effect actually makes it look like he is trying to use his cock as a tray to hold the glass.

He glances at Althesire, who is speaking with one of the strange treelike women, and wonders what he should do.