King Stork

King Stork
an erotic retelling by William Crimson

  • “King Stork” is a fascinating literary fairy tale. My starting point is the version rewritten by Howard Pyle and illustrated by Trina Schart Hyman. The illustrations by Trina Schart Hyman are some of the most erotically suggestive of any illustrated children’s book I know. For erotic connoisseurs, take a close look at the table in Hyman’s illustrated version – a very close look. I’m more than a little surprised that the publisher went along with it. There’s an urban myth that the book was re-issued with altered illustrations. As it is, Hyman’s version needs no help from me. She herself erotically retold the story. The princess exudes sex. The original story is by Wilhelm Hauff and is fascinating because it’s easily read as flatly misogynist and patriarchal. In truth, it also needs no help from me in terms of an erotic retelling. A young woman, with little desire to marry (and who has “symbolically” beheaded her suitors), is beaten (or symbolically beaten) into sexual submissiveness to become a good and submissive wife. It’s the kind of story that horrifies feminists but ought to secretly tickle the fancy of the erotically inclined (who don’t take stories like these literally). In other words, plain and simple, it’s a D/s fairy tale. (My version is probably gratuitously sexual and obvious.) However, there’s a lovely ambiguity in Hyman’s final illustration. The drummer eats. The “submissive” wife, beginning to grow new wings, seems to be looking out the window, but take a closer look at her eyes. Does she look out the window, or does she look, with a knowing smile, at the crown and dagger hanging within reach? It’s a strange moment. We like the drummer but we also secretly root from the princess.

There was drummer who walked the high road, or rather, a midsummer’s well-trodden path of dirt. He wore nothing but his bare heels and a cinch of provisions slung over his shoulder. He was returning home from the wars. By and by he came to a wide, but shallow river; and there sat a gnarled old stork4woman. A ring of long white hair flowed from her shoulders and a little white beard from her chin. She smiled toothily as the sturdy young man approach, thoughtfully twisting her slight little beard between her fat thumb and a long, wrinkled finger. “Are you crossing the river?” asked she.

“I am,” says the drummer. “And then some if my legs are true.”

“And will you not help a poor old body across?”

The drummer straightened his back good-naturedly and turned a stem between his teeth. “What would I be to the world, or the world to me, if I didn’t carry those who once carried me?” With that, the young man loosed his leather vest, cuffed the sleeves of his white shirt, and heaved the old woman onto his back.

“Now you must carry this too,” said the old hag, handing him a black quill.

The drummer thought nothing of that at all. Away he started across the river.

But this was no ordinary favor. Each step the drummer took was heavier than the last. He squared his jaw. He set his brow. His gaze turned hard as stone. When he was half way cross his legs shock with the load. Sweat dripped from his nose and chin. The sun felt three times hotter than when he’d walked the dusty path. By and by, the drummer reached the opposite shore and the old women jumped lightly from his back.

“By my troth!” said the drummer laughing. He put his hands to his hips and straightened his back. “I’ve paid my debt three times over!”

And then, wonder of it all, the old woman was a hag no longer. Here was a woman who looked for all the world like a raven-haired gypsy born in a caboose. The black quill, as heavy as himself, she took from him as lightly as if it were no more than the feather that it was. She tucked the quill behind her ear so that fluted straight back. She touched the drummer’s lips with the tip of a finger. “Who do you suppose I am?” But the drummer had no more idea than a duck out of water.

“The one eyed witch cast a spell on me and I could not leave the spot until I was carried across the river. You were the lad to do it and you’ll be glad.” The raven-haired woman took a bone whistle from round her neck and dropped it in the drummer’s hand. “Whenever you’re in trouble, blow this whistle and I’ll be by to help you.” She gave him a kiss, took the quill from her hair and was transformed into a raven. The drummer watched until he could no longer see her, then studied the bone whistle. He saw that it was in the shape of a penis, it’s little spaded head ending with an opening such as one finds at the end of a flute. Peculiar though it was, he hung it round his neck and merrily went his way.

There were many a traveler who would have traded their luck with his.

By and by he came to the town over the hill.

As it was late in the evening, he asked his way to the nearest tavern and Inn and, once there, had set before him a drought of bitter and a slab of ribs. What’s more, he slipped his rough hand beneath the dress of the pretty serving maid, a lass with red hair and pretty green eyes. He plied her buttocks and pressed a finger’s tip into the moist dimple between her thighs. She blushed, sucked in her lips and prettily squeeze her knees together.

“What a fine lass you are,” said the drummer.
“And what a naughty lad you are!”
“A pretty little service you could do me.”
The little maid squirmed as though she had to pee but could not dismount his thumb. She looked nervously round and then at the upright prick under the table. She had never seen so thick, so tall or so lusty a prick.

“You are in need of a wife, Sir!”
“And why not a pretty maid like you?”
“Oh Sir, I know the wench that a prick like yours would tame!”
tumblr_n21abfzMn31qfbon7o1_500“Do you?”
“Oh yes,” said the maid, “and turn a drummer into a prince.”
“How so?”
“If he marry the princess, Sir.”
“And how should that be?”
“By answering the question she puts to him, by asking her a question she cannot answer, and by catching the bird she would be wanting, Sir.”
“Well there’s some luck for a clever lad, like me!”
“Aye,” said the pretty maid, still squirming on his thumb, “but whosoever fails in any one of the three questions shall have his prick cut off as sure as he lives!”
“That’s a wicked one!”
“Sure and she is,” said the pretty maid, “Now, Sir, you must do me a service for I cannot lift myself from your thumb such as you have it between my legs, and if my father should look for me then it were the worse for you!”

The drummer laughed and spanked her bottom. “Then run along, little lass and I’ll give you more of a tip than the tip of my thumb.”

The drummer would have a go at the princess.

It is a poor fellow, he said to himself, who cannot manage a girl before and a wife thereafter. But he knew as much about that as a duck of the desert. As for the chopping off of pricks, he never bothered his own about that: for, he who has never put his prick in the noose, has never enjoyed the escape!

Off he went to the King’s castle as fast as his drummer’s stride could take him and banged at the door as though he were the Prince already.

But when the King learned he had come for his daughter, he took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. The king had a feeling heart. To see yet another man’s prick cut off, after so many fine young men had lost their pricks, was almost more than the King could bare. He led the drummer into the throne room whereat he saw the princess and poor hapless Prince pressed to his knees before her.

Now the drummer knew straight away and upon seeing the princess that he was not to be scared away. She wore so transparent a white gown that naught was to be missed: not the nipples of her breasts, needling the fabric, nor the dark fur, trimmed ever so wickedly, between her white thighs, nor the long hair of her head that was as black and gleaming as the pitch between her legs. Oh yes, the drummer could see all of her right down to the scratch of her belly button. With one hand on her waist, she smirked at the Prince beneath her. Two large men, with great bellies and iron girdles, held him by his shoulders and forced him backwards so that his prick was thrust forward, swollen and jutting.

The princess held a scimitar that gleamed with a hungry light.

With the hand that had been on her hip, she pressed her gown between her legs and upward. “Do I arouse you?”

“Have mercy!” cried the Prince.

“Would you have had mercy on me?” asked the princess.

“But you’re a woman!”

As quick as lightning strikes the tree she sliced off the Prince’s prick. “And so are you!” she answered with a wicked glee. For sure enough, there no longer was a young man, a Prince in armor, but a trembling young woman. The armor and chain rattled, for now the Prince’s erstwhile armor and mail was too large for her.

Ho! Now this was indeed a wicked cut, but the drummer only picked his teeth. The Prince’s hair had been brown, and feathered at his shoulder’s, and such was the girl’s. His eyes had been green and hers were an even prettier green. The Prince’s lips had been red, and hers were the prettier curl of a girl’s. Where the Prince’s broad chest had been, were two pert breasts.

Something had thumped to the ground.

The princess stooped and picked up the Prince’s erstwhile prick. The prick was still rigid and arching. Two fat balls hung from beneath and it was as if she held a toy, for that was how cleanly and swiftly the spell-cast blade of the scimitar cut. There was not the mark of blood anywhere and there was neither a wound for the blade, in cutting, makes no wound.

roman flying penises“Now,” said the princess, cradling the cock and balls in the palm of her hand, “I give you a choice.” She brought the heel of her palm to her lips and blew on the cock. It sprouted little wings. Her smile was as wicked and cunning as any the drummer had seen and he knew at once there would be no good answer to any choice she offered. “Many a King’s man has need of a wife. A good wife will suck and a good wife will kneel and a good wife will be steered by her master’s keel. If it was well for me, then it will be well for you. Shall I find a man for you? Shall I send you back to your mother and fatheer? Or will I have you as a serving maid and none be the wiser?”

“Tell them you have chopped off my head!” mumbled the erstwhile Prince.

“Very well!” The princess blew on the wingèd-cock and it fluttered to perch with all the others she had collected. Then she turned gracefully to the drummer. “And what would a stout young man like yourself be wanting?”

“Naught but you!” he answered as bravely as any man might. Aye, the princess was so pretty and desirable that the drummer’s heart, despite all, straight away melted like snow in June. This was exactly what the princess was after. After a while she asked if he would care to answer her question, if he would care to ask her a question, and if he cared to capture that bird she thought of.

“Yes!” said the drummer, “to do those very things.”

“Well then,” said the princess with a knowing smile, “just come by tomorrow and I will ask you a question.”

Off went the drummer.

When he was sure that he was out of site, he blew on the bone penis. Once. Twice. There stood the raven-haired woman with the black quill in her hair as if she’d stood there all the while.

“And what do you want?”

The drummer told her everything, how the pretty maid had told him of the princess and how the princess was going to ask him a question on the very morrow and that he would have to answer or have his prick chopped off.

“Now that’s clever fix!” The woman smiled slyly and pressed her palm against the crotch of the Dummer’s breeches. “Where the prick flieth, so followeth the man? But I know something about this princess – aye, a thing or two. She’s stolen a gilded cage of mine. Get that gilded cage for me. To do it I have a long gray cap for you to wear. When you wear it, none can see you. You will be no more than the wind. At midnight tonight, the princess will come out of the castle garden and fly into the air. Forthwith, put this quill behind your ear and you too may fly and follow her. The faster the princess flies, the faster the quill will carry you.”

The drummer took the long gray cap the quill.

“This quill,” said the tricksterish woman, “will break a back, but tuck it behind your ear and you will be lighter than air. Oh, but do not keep it there, my drummer, or soon you will find more to it than you bargained for.”

“Dong! Dong!”

The clock tower bell struck twelve times and the princess came out of the castle and into the castle garden. Behind her were three maidens, an erstwhile squire, knight and prince. Their wrists were bound by silver chains, not tightly, but neither wrist could move far to the left or right ass_pussy_jghobotwithout the other. Neither could their hands move downward, for a further silver chain attached to a collar about their slender necks, prevented them. The erstwhile suitors wore only a short shrift that ended, like the edges of a bell, just at their hips, and opened to their shoulders so their breasts were uncovered. All the while, the drummer kept his cap on. The princess put on a great pair of wings and leaped into the air, tugging the maidens behind her who half floated and half ran behind her. The drummer followed with the quill tucked behind his ear. Three wingèd-cocks flew behind her, one of them the prick she had only just chopped off. Though she flew quickly, the drummer was just as quick behind her.

By and by they came to giant castle of beaten iron that stood on a jagged mountain of glass. It was a lucky thing the drummer had his cap for surrounding the castle were dragons and many-headed dragons at that. Their teeth and scales were cast from the same blue-black iron as the castle itself. But not one sniffed a thread of the drummer. He walked into the castle straight behind the princess and there he saw the great one-eyed witch with a beard on her chin, and a nose that hooked over her mouth like a crescent moon.

“Uff!” she said. “Here is the smell of a man!”

“Tut, Mother!” said the princess. “Such talk from you! Do you not see the little birds that fly with me?” The three wingèd cocks fluttered behind her, their lengths thrust up. “They all three I clipped this passing week.”

The one-eyed witch held out her gnarled hand.

The first of the three alighted on her up-turned palm. “Oh, what a proud one!” she purred. She stroked the wingèd-cock with a finger’s tip from the furry base to the crown and slowly circled the gleaming crown just behind the ridge. “Oh, what I fine little fellow. Look at you tremble!” By and by, a thick burbling of semen slipped from the prick’s tip and dribbled down its length, matting the fur of its underside. “My my! Aren’t your ready! You need a flat little belly to put all of that in! Off you go!” The one-eyed witch tossed the wingèd-cock into the air and it fluttered to perch with the other two on an iron chandelier above an oaken table.

The table was spread with mutton, breads and grapes. By and by the witch called to one of the erstwhile suitors who stood with her eyes cast down and bound wrists before her. “Come kneel before me, girl, or I shall have you whipped on the spot.”

flyingpenisThe erstwhile squire quickly and obediently stood before the one-eyed witch.

“Good girl! And how pretty you are!” she crooned. The girl did not raise her downcast eyes. “The world is a little different now that you’re a young woman, eh? Look at those pretty slender legs, that little tuft between them and those lovely nipples to be sucked. Why is it that you pledged service to an enchantress, my little squire, rather than run away home. Surely your father would have been overjoyed to see that his child lived to tell the tale! We might have chopped off your head, after all, and then what?”

“His child mayhaps, but not his son.”

“Ah yes,” said the one-eyed witch, “girls do not slay dragons or inherit kingdoms do they? Yes, I could see how he might have no use for a new daughter. What use, indeed? His brave son returning from his adventure as a girl? Now wouldn’t that be a shame. A girl! Better that your head was chopped off than your prick, eh? We do not write heroic fairy tales about girls with sweet hips and sprouting tits do we?”

“No, Madam.”
“And I suppose, whilst the world had granted you such fortune as to be born with a cock, you gave no further thought to such imbalances?”
“No, Madam.”
“Aye. Now I here tell there as a pretty maid whom you made to suck your cock.”
“Yes, Madam.”
tumblr_le1xiaA2R21qfbon7o1_400“Such sport! Do you, perchance, remember the poor wench’s name?”
“No, Madam,” mumbled the erstwhile squire.
“Well, such a lucky girl, to obediently suck the cock of a squire and swallow.”
The one-eyed witch tugged on the erstwhile squire’s leash until she knelt next to the witch. “Cross your wrists behind you, at the small of your back, and if you move them you shall wish your head had been chopped off! Now spread those knees. Very good. I shall want to diddle you whilst you suck your own cock, and the princess shall want to whip you.”

“No Madame! I beg you!” cried the young woman.
“Lucky lass! If it were good for her, then it shall be good for you!”

The one-eyed witch blew a kiss the quire’s erstwhile prick, and fluttered into the air, dripping semen. The erstwhile squire clenched her jaw but the one-eyed witch yanked back her head, bending her spine, and the Princes gave such a blow to the girl’s bottom that she opened her mouth and her erstwhile cock, diving like a bird of prey, filled it.

How wide her eyes were! How she complained, muffled though her squeals and cries were. How she squirmed. How tears ran down her pretty checks, over her lips and the wingèd-cock that rounded her lips into a pretty O. All the while, the one-eyed witch diddled her cunny and the princess whipped her bottom into the poor lass began to swoon, her eyes half closing and half rolling. The wingèd-prick flapped and flapped. And then there came a first tumblr_ll7369o4H01qfbon7o1_1280 (1)little twitch and the erstwhile squire uttered a muffled scream! “Aye, you taste it!” cackled the witch. The erstwhile squire’s eyes grew wide as saucers and she struggled mightily though the princess had stooped and held her wrists behind her. She cried, pleaded, begged squirmed, and twisted though are mouth was full and she could not utter a word.

And then the witch’s diddling did its work and the poor girl began to tremble.

And such is the pleasure of a young woman’s mouth on a cock when she cries and complains. The erstwhile Squire gave another short, sharp scream, drew back as if with horror, then groaned, eyes half closing and turning upward as she trembled on the witch’s finger and as the gushing of her own erstwhile spurted against the back of her throat. The witch yanked her head straight back. The poor girl groaned and swallowed spurt after spurt.

There was one last tremble and twitch before the wingèd-prick flapped its wings and lightly flew back into the chandelier. The one-eyed witch let go of the young woman’s hair and she fell forward still on her knees, her wrists still behind her, her belly hot with the salt of a cock. She said nothing but seemed to catch her breath.

“Do you submit?” askied the witch.
“Yes mistress,” answered the erstwhile squire quietly. “You are my master.”
The princess, observing all this with satisfaction, arrived at the reason for her visit: “There was lad come today to answer the question I shall put to him, Now what shall I ask him by way of a question?”

“A fine lass with a fine cock in her mouth,” said the Witch, admiring the submissive squire and the pearlescent drop that hung from her bottom lip. “Ask him what it is you are thinking about and let it be that.”

Yes, that was a good question for sure and certain. The princess would give it to the drummer boy on the very morrow. As for the drummer, you can guess that he grinned from ear to ear. He heard every word and said to himself, eying the princess: “And this will be the very thing to cure you too!” He remembered the pretty maiden’s instructions. By and by the princess and Witch feel asleep and the drummer took the switch from the princess’s fingers.

Forthwith, he began to fiercely whip her. The princess hardly knew what was happening for the drummer was no more visible than the air itself. She shook the one-eyed witch, but the one-eyed witch would not waken. She ran in circles round the oaken table, turning, looking, covering her buttocks here, her thighs there.

winged penis“I beg you, spirit, cease punishing me!” Thereat, the princess fell to her knees. “Oh, how my evil doings punish me! What must I do?”

The princess’s eyes widened when she felt a hand in her hair, and her mouth filled by an invisible prick! How large it was! How it stretched her lips! How she squealed! Her fingers fluttered as though to drive the drummer away, though little she knew that it was the drummer. Yet every time she did so, he gave her buttocks such a switching that her hands moved to her buttocks and stayed there, and put such a heat in them that soon her thighs opened and her buttocks rose and fell as if to cool her hips and everything between. Her squeals turned to groans. Her eyes grew heavy as if she would swoon. She obediently sucked and eagerly swallowed the drummer’s salty bursts as if by this she could end her suffering.

How bereft she looked when he left her!

After a time, the princess flew away home again. The drummer had already flown ahead and taken the gilded cage from the princess’s room, but she knew none of that so distracted was she. Such a taste was in her mouth as she had never tasted before!

The next morning the drummer marched to the King’s castle and knocked at the door. They let him in. There sat the King and the princess, and lots of folk beside. Well. Let’s have no round-about. Did he come to answer the princess’s question or no?

“Yes,” answered the drummer, “your question. That is the very business for which I am hear.”

“Very well,” said the princess with a wicked smile, though not quite so wicked as before, for she was strangely curious about the drummer’s prick. Aye, she longed to chop it off, but remembering the taste still in her mouth, she gnawed at her lip and the nail of her little finger. Then she abruptly leaned forward. “What am I thinking of at this very moment? I grant you three guesses.”

“Oh,” said the drummer, “that won’t be so hard a thing, for all lasses’ heads run along the same line. Is it new high heel shoes, bright and red?”
“No,” answered the princess.
“Then it must be a sweetheart. For every young woman thinks of nothing but a sweet heart whom she might marry.”
“Oh, no,” answered the princess with a satisfied smile, “not that. Not that at all.”
“Not that? Well then, I might be embarrassed to say.”
“No, do tell.”
“Are you sure?”
“Oh, yes,” answered the princess wickedly, “I am sure.”
“Well, as I say, knowing that all lasses heads run along the same lines, then it must be of a fine lass with a fine cock in her mouth!”

The princess turned red as a beet and whether for rage at having been guessed or for embarrassment, none but the princess knew. Dear! Dear! But you should have seen the princess. Up she got and with a spiteful swish of her hip walked out without a single word. The King, seeing that the drummer had guessed right – and that it was the first time a suitor had guessed right – immediately sat up and lifted his forehead from his palm. He stepped from the dias and clapped the drummer on his back. Just the answer itself made him snap his fingers with delight. Besides, he gave out orders that bonfires be lighted all over town and that was a fine thing for everyone.

tumblr_lk1sithGwU1qfbon7o1_1280 (1)

That night the princess flew away to the iron castle of the one-eyed witch, followed by six of her favorite fluttering pricks, and the drummer boy was close behind her, just as before.

“Uff!” said the one eyed witch, “here is the smell of a man, for sure and certain.” But all the same, she could see nothing more than thin air.
“Fie Mother!” said the princess, “that rogue of a drummer has answered my question without a wink.”
“So,” said the witch, “we have missed, but the second time will hit the mark.”
After that, they sat down to supper as they had done before. The three young women, the erstwhile squire, knight and the prince sat kneeling on the floor awaiting the commands of the one-eyed witch. Each was leashed to the witch’s chair by the collars around their necks. The bottom lip of the squire was laced with dried semen and her belly was full for it hadn’t taken long for the wingèd-cock, like all youthful pricks, to stiffen and grow heavy. Many a time it had woken her during the night. She blushed when the princess observed her, for in this way too she was becoming a young woman.

“And what about you?” The one-eyed snapped the leash of the knight. “Bring us food lest I whip you on the spot. Now that you’re a ripe little wench you’ll learn your duty and that’s to serve others as you were once served by them!”

The young woman hurried off and shortly brought them a giant tray of food. One by one she laid them out. “He will be asking you a question tomorrow,” said the witch to the princess. “I will give you a book that tells everything that has happened in the world and if he asks better than flying-penisthat he’s a smart one and we had better be wise.”

“He is a bold one!” said the princess distractedly.

“Aye, but we’ll soon have him and a drummer girl at that. We’ll teach her a thing or two!”

A drop of semen spattered on the table.
The wingèd-cocks had all perched on the iron chandelier above the oaken table. Oh, but if they wait too long, how they swell and stiffen, poor things, as though they would burst! Semen dripped, little drops, from the most swollen of them.

The Witch took a twinkling her one eye and said to the erstwhile Knight that she did not like such and such about the food. “Take it back and if you drop a single thing I will have you whipped such that you will wish your head had been chopped off.”

“Yes, Madam,” answered the flustered girl, but soon as she had loaded her tray and turned to leave, the witch blew a kiss to the wingèd-cock that had just spattered the table with another drop. The prick giddily seemed to leap from its perch and swooped down. The erstwhile Knight unsuspectingly walked away, her round hips swaying left and right as a girl’s will. The Knight did not intend to walk so invitingly but what did he know of being a girl? The prick swooped down, aimed its flared head at the base of the girl’s buttocks, and soared straight up into her. Such a quick little scream she uttered, her bowels impaled! She rose to her toes, nearly stumbling and nearly dropping the tray. The prick, snug inside her, spread its wings across her buttocks and wasted no time for it was swollen and eager. It at once began to flap and flap.

“Why do you stand there?” scolded the one-eyed witch. “Fetch my food!”

“But– but Mistress,” gasped the erstwhile Knight, “it moves in me as I walk!”

tumblr_m798fqoaoh1rbu4nbo1_500“Was it that to me? Such is the life of a serving wench! Is that not your esrtwhile prick? Is not the prick of knight entitled to a serving girl’s nethers? Did you not enjoy the nethers of a serving girl, in just this light, every now and then and howsoever you wanted?”

“Yes, Mistress,” answered the erstwhile Knight, knees together, spine bent as the wingèd-cock flapped and flapped.

“Aye, and do you remember their names perchance?”

“No, Mistress.”

“Well,” answered the one-eyed witch, “then you may pretend it is an anonymous Knight that takes you thus from behind. Such is the duty of a ripe little wench. Now fetch my food or a will whip you until you wish your head had been chopped off. The knight’s cock will do what it will do and is no concern of yours!”

“Yes, Mistress!” The erstwhile Knight hurried off, the wingèd-cock flapping in her bottom all the while, but so large and with such eagerness that the young woman rose to her toes and walked with her back in a fine arch.

By and by, the witch pretended to be dissatisfied each time the girl brought a new tray of food until, at the last, the erstwhile Knight, carrying in a last tray of food, panted and stopped midway to the table. “Mistress,” she said to the one-eyed witch, “the prick – the prick burns in me. The prick strikes me in strange places when I walk, when it thrusts, my heart races, I think the prick will make me pee!”

“Ah,” smiled the one-eyed witch wickedly. “Bend over!”
“But mistress!”
“And do not drop a thing! Your business is to think of my food. Let that stout cock do what it will do!”
“Oh, mistress, have mercy! Not there! Not by my own, prick!”
“Bend over! If it were good enough for the wench whose name you cannot remember, then it were good for you!”
The erstwhile Knight bent over, knees straight and legs spread. The tray nearly toppled. The wingèd-cock flapped and flapped mightily. She almost fell forward until both she and the wingèd-cock shuddered. Dear, dear! How the erstwhile Knight nearly swooned and tremebled as her bowels were filled from behind. Then the wingèd-cock, unburdened, lightly fluttered to the chandelier, rejoining the others.

“Now,” said the witch, “you have a new master.”

“Yes, Mistress.” The erstwhile Knight slowly straightened, her belly burning, and stepped to the table. She laid the tray of food on the table before the Witch and the princess, her hips squirming and jutting as if to cool the heat in them.
“Less delay!” scolded the witch.

Table Manners“Forgive me, mistress.”

“I suppose it shan’t be long before your prick is ready for another bout!”
“No, mistress,” the erstwhile Knight answered, tearfully biting her lower lip.
“And not in your cunny?”
“No, Mistress,” answered the girl miserably, for well she knew the likings of her new master ere it had been chopped off. The princess, meanwhile, took especial delight knowing, as the young woman’s bottom squirmed, that the syrup of the Knight’s own erstwhile cock hotly burned in her intestines.
Ho! But what a wicked pair! – thought the drummer, who had seen it all.

But this will be very thing to cure a princess too! He waited until both the princess and one-eyed witch were sleeping and then, forthwith, the drummer began to whip the princess. Up she jumped! Once more she tried to wake the one-eyed witch but after so much wine and food she would not stir. The drummer did not let up a stitch.

He chased her through the castle. How the princess cried! “I beg you, spirit, cease punishing me!” Thereat, the princess fell to her knees. “Oh, how my evil doings punish me! What must I do?”

The drummer did not cease whipping her until she fell forward on her elbows and displayed her cunny and buttocks. The drummer dropped to his knees behind her and filled her bowels. How she howled! How she reached behind as though to drive the drummer off! But the dreamer held her long black hair in one hand and whipped her bottom with the other until the princess spread her knees, held her ankles upright in her own hands, and groaned with each thrust. How her spine bent! How her head snapped back when she shuddered with the drummer and her bowels were filled! And how bereft she looked when he left her!


By and by, and after she had recovered, the princess flew away home again, followed by the wingèd-cocks. How syrupy and languorous was the swaying of her hips!

Back to town, the drummer blew the bone penis that summoned the tricksterish gypsy.

He gave her the gilded cage and then asked: “What will I ask the princess who has a book that answers all questions?”

“Well, well,” smiled the raven-haired woman, “this one you should surmise for yourself.”

“But the book is magic.”

“Why then, do not ask the question she doesn’t know but the one she knows too well.” The sly woman brushed the palm of her hand over the stubble of his cheek. “Oh yes, I see you already begin to think. And for that, I have another favor.”

“And what would that be?”

“The princess also stole a bird from me and I will tell you exactly what it looks like. Take this gilded cage. Put the bird in it.”

“Well and fine,” said the drummer, “and that should be easy enough!”

The drummer, on the very morrow, went banging on the King’s door as though he owned the castle. There, before the King and the many who had come to watch, he asked the princess if she was ready to answer the question he asked. But how strangely she blushed. Such a taste was in her mouth and such a heat was in her belly. She squirmed in her seat, bit her lip, and unevenly spoke: “Yes. Ask.”

“Then your question,” said the drummer as though considering.

“Yes, yes! Ask!” sputtered the princess, for she was even more curious about the drummer’s prick, without knowing why. She wanted his wingèd-cock like no other. She would keep it in her gilded cage and keep it only for herself.

Then said the drummer: “There is a great one-eyed witch who lives in a castle of beaten iron atop a jagged glass mountain. Ho, but she is a wicked one! If any could find her, they would just as soon be happy to hang her on the spot. She keeps three servants, fine lads – a squire, a knight and a prince who are now lasses, having had their pricks chopped off – and while she sates them as roughly and thoroughly as they themselves once pricked and pierced a few pretty maids, there is another witch, as wicked and as terrible. She whips these same lasses until they twitch. Such a witch is worth another hanging and on the spot! For the life of me, I cannot think of the name of this other witch?”

The drummer had her sure as a moth in a lantern. The princess slammed shut the book and gnawed the nail of her little finger. The book of knowledge was of no more use than had been sand in the desert.

If the King had been glad when the drummer answered his daughter’s question, he was twice as merry when she could not answer his. He commanded another round of bonfires for this was the first time the second challenge had been met. All the same, there was more to do. The princess’s voice was dark and malevolent. She said to the drummer, “Now bring me the bird I want – the one-eyed hawk if you want to keep your prick off the wall yonder.”

Yes, the drummer thought he might do that as easily as anything so far, so off he went to the Inn to speak with tricksy woman whose hair was as blue as a ravens. The tricksy woman drew a net from her skirt as fine as a cobweb and white as milk. “When you go to the castle tonight, take this net with you and throw it over the witch’s head, and then see what happens: only when you catch the one-eyed hawk you must slay it and only the princess’s scimitar can do it. You must have it with you or it will be the worse for you. And then, once you are done with it, you must bring it to me for this too was stolen from me.”

That night, the princess called forth the wingèd-cocks to fly with her to the castle of the one-eyed witch. One by one, they answered her, each flying out the window after the other. The drummer wore his gray cap, and unseen by the princess or the wingèd-cocks, he waited by the window until he saw the little bird that the blue-haired gypsy had described to him. What a fine bird it was! – thick, upright and with a proud red cap. The drummer snatched it mid-air and thrust it, flapping, into the gilded cage. And that was that.

The princess, distracted as she was, did not notice the missing bird.

Off she flew. The drummer blew the penis whistle and just so quick appeared the blue-haried gypsy, to whom he handed the gilded cage with the bird inside. The tricksterish woman smiled to see her stolen bird. She reached into the cage and held it in her palm. She gave it a kiss upon its head and tickled its underside. “Such a trouble you are,” she said, then said to the drummer: “Off with you if you want to catch the princess and the One-eyed Witch!”

The drummer leapt into the air and arrived straight behind the princess at the witch’s castle.

“And did you chop off his prick?” the witch asked the princess.

“No,” she answered. “That rogue of a drummer asked a question I dared not answer.”

My, but how they both looked about them, hands on chins, for each knew something was amiss and that they had better be wise. All the same, they decided they would have have him soon enough. The princess revealed that she had set upon him the task of bringing her the one-eyed hawk and it was not likely he would be doing that.

Just as with the night before, the princess and Witch sat down to eat and the erstwhile knights and Prince were called to serve them. How prettily they blushed and pouted. They still were unused to their new labor, hips and bellies – they who had always sat at the table and been served.

By and by, the one-eyed witch called on the erstwhile Prince to fill her wine cup. As the girl approached, the witch stroked her cock. “I know of a Prince,” said the Witch, “who once asked a pretty maid to fill his cup of wine.”
“Yes, Madame.”
“Well, tell us of your exploit!”
“She was – she was a bonny lass, Madame.”
“Was she?”
“Yes, her hair was brown and her eyes were green.”
“And what of her name?”
“I do not remember, Madam.”
“Oh but you remember the feel of her peevish cunny round your prick, do you not? – having bent her over a table, having kicked her legs apart, having told her she should hold tight to the table for a royal prick was about to take her from behind.”
“Yes, Madame.”
“And did you not take her by the hair so that all see as she trembled on your prick?”
“Yes, Madame,” answered the erstwhile Prince quietly.
“I am lost! – she cried.”
“And is she quick with your child?”
“I know not, Madam.”
“Do you not?”
“Mistress,” the erstwhile Prince finally cried, “have mercy!”
“Aye, and did you show mercy?”
“She was a wench!”
“This is true. This is true. And you are a Prince. I grant you. I forget. Tsk! Tsk! So, because you are a Prince, I give you a choice.” The one-eyed Witch smiled wickedly and the Drummer, who watched unseen, knew before the erstwhile Prince that no good would come from this choice. “Your choice is this,” continued the Witch, “agree to serve me, my little suckling, for the rest of your days; or you may have your prick back.”

“I want it back!” she cried.
“Very well!” the delighted Witch answered with a sharp snort. “So be it.”
She blew a kiss to the largest of the wingèd-cocks and it straight away leaped from the chandelier, its eager tip agleam and dripping. The erstwhile Prince at once recognized her mistake. “No!” she cried. “Have mercy!”
“What? Afraid of a little cock, dearie?”
“But you mean it to go in me!”
“Did you not say you wanted it back?”
“But Madame!”
“You’re a proper wench now! Where else should a prick go?”
“But it’s big!”
“Ho! Now you concern yourself with such things. How proud you used to be! What did you suppose you were going to do with the princess had you won her? Had you any care whether she loved you? You should count yourself lucky. Yours is a Prince’s cock, after all! Are not all Prince’s cocks large? Lucky girl, yours will be a fairy tale ending! After all, in a girl’s cunt alliances are made, treaties are sealed and Kingdoms secured. A Prince’s cock to fill a tight little cunny and happily ever after. Is that not what every wench dreams of? And why not? If were good enough for a princess, then surely it shall be good enough for a ripe little wench like you?””

“Mistress, I beg you!” The erstwhile prince closed her knees tightly together for the flapping prick nosed at the juncture of her naked thighs. Then it rose upward and tried to fly behind her but she spun to face it. The faster it tried to flutter behind her, the faster she turned until, 10f1f2rmissing a trick, she turned the wrong way. In the confusion of her posture, her knees being locked together, her slender buttocks thrust back, her spine hooked for fear of the thing in front of her, the semen-slickened prick only had to dive and swooped upward. The prick stuck her straight to the depth of her cunny’s rounded lips.
She sharply inhaled, stumbling forward, elbows on the table, legs widening as though to ease the size of the prick, and fingers splayed.
“How does it feel?” asked the one-eyed witch.
“Oh Mistress! Please take it out!”
“Take it out? When the poor thing is so close? How cruel! Aye, and look at you lift your cunny! Is it so large? Good, now you begin to think like the young lass whom you likewise enjoyed. That’s it. Lift your cunny a little higher. ‘Twill all be over soon!”
The princess took the girl’s short hair in hand whilst the witch began to whip her lifted buttocks. “Harder,” smiled the princess.
“Please!” she cried. “Have mercy!”
“The One-eyed Witch whipped the girl all the harder.

Soon, the erstwhile prince’s eyes grew heavy and her nipples stuck stiffly from her breasts. She lifted, rocked and lifted her buttocks, unable to dislodge the prick impaling her. The wingèd-cock flapped its wings furiously, shoving, pushing, plying its spaded head as deeply into its erstwhile master as it could, but all to no avail. Then said the princess, “Is this not the very prick you wished to put in me?”
“What will become of me?”
“Is it not welcome?” The princess lips were almost upon the girl’s. ” I thought you wanted your prick returned to you?”
“Oh, take it out!”
“But it tried to return to you!”
“Pity me! Tell it to stop!”
“Oh, but I think you want a little souvenir before I take it out.” The princess tenderly kissed the young woman. “A little something this is rightfully yours. Do you not want a little keepsake of your former self?”

“Oh!” The young woman’s eyes turned and she groaned. “I am lost.” She reached across the table, holding the opposite edge, her breasts flat against the table, her cunny compliantly lifted behind her for she could not stop herself expiring in her own womb. Her erstwhile wingèd-cock pushed once, pushed twice – it’s wings flapping furiously –- then trembled and twitched inside her as if with exhaustion.

Flying-penis-beast“There,” the princess smiled, “at least something of your erstwhile prick remains in your belly.”

The poor girl groaned again as her cock flapped its wings and little by little managed to withdraw its gleaming length from her upturned womb. How lightly it fluttered to the chandelier and perched with the others. The drummer, who had watched it all, decided the princess was indeed exceedingly wicked. ‘But that will be the very cure for you!’ he thought to himself.

“See,” said the old witch when the princess was ready to go. “I will go home with you tonight and see that you get there safe and sound.” So she brought out a pair of wings, just like those the princess had, and set them on her shoulders. Soon as she did, she was transformed into a giant wingèd-cock the likes and size of which the drummer had never seen – the one-eyed hawk! – so large and proud that the Princess straddled it and rode its back. All the wingèd-cocks but those belonging to the squire, the knight and prince followed. As they passed over the town, the Princess blew them kisses. Down they soared. Whose throats were filled, whose thighs were pierced, whose bottoms were lifted, which girl clawed the sheets as she was filled from behind, naught was known – only that always, one day, the youngest and freshest maidens walked with their hands on their round bellies. The wingèd-pricks rejoined the witches, lighter and quicker, and so came they home without seeing a soul, for the drummer was careful to keep on his gray cap.

“Good night,” said the witch to the princess and “Good night” said the princess to the witch, and one was for going one way and one for the other. But the drummer wore his wits sharply enough and before the old witch could get away he flung the net that the blue-haired gypsy had given him over her head.

onion - penis rider 4

“Hi!” But you should have been there. The great one-eyed hawk flapped its powerful wings and its giant head fought to break through the net. But that did no good for the Drummer withdrew the scimitar, for he had found it before the Witch and Princess had arrived and forthwith chopped off its balls and there was an end of it.

The next morning he wrapped it up in a burlap sack and started off for the King’s castle. There was the princess, waiting for him, looking as cool as frosted butter, for she was sure the drummer was caught in the trap this time.

“And have you brought the one-eyed hawk with you?” she asked.

“Oh, yes,” said the drummer, and here it was spilling out of the burlap sack and two great brass balls. Such a scene! Oh my! How the women fainted when they saw the size of the one-eyed cock! The princess fell to the floor with a shriek and had to be carried out of the room.

But everyone saw that the drummer had brought the bird she had asked for and all were as glad as glad could be. The King gave orders that they should fire off the town cannon, just as on his birthday!

But the drummer went off back of the castle and blew, a turn or two, on the bone penis. There stood the blue-haired gypsy. “Here is your cap and your quill,” says he, “and here is the scimitar. It is I who am thankful to you, for you and they have won me a real princess for a wife.”

The gypsy took the scimitar and sheathed it in a scabbard that was slung over her shoulder. Then she leaned forward and kissed the drummer with his cheeks pressed between her palms. “All well and good,” she said. “You have won her, sure enough, but next is to keep her, for no lass is cured of being a witch so easily. Once one has picked ones parsnips, one must roast and butter them in the bargain. See now, the princess is just as wicked as she ever was and if you do not keep your eyes open she will trip you after all. So listen to what I tell you. Just after you are married, you must pour milk over the princess and make ready with a good, stiff switch. Pour the milk over the Princess when you are alone and after that, hold tight no matter what happens for that is the only way to save yourself. Hold tight, do not let her go, and you will know when she breaks.”

Well, the drummer promised to do as the blue-haired gypsy said.

Then the tricksterish gypsy placed a finger’s tip on the drummer’s nose and asked him again: “Who do you suppose I am?”

The drummer had yet no more idea than a worm in the mud.

“Well,” said the blue-haird woman, “the little bird you rescued is my own prick and this sword is the sword I use to cut it off, for sometimes it is useful for me to be a woman and sometimes, because I know the trick to put my prick back on, it is useful for me to be a man. And this quill is the quill I write with, for an erotic writer is a trickster who must many times be a man and as many times be a woman.”

“Ho!” laughed the drummer. “And what will you write about me?”

“I will write a story called King Stork, and I will tell the story as though it were for children, and none but a few chidlren will be the wiser for many a children’s story is a trickster’s story. Now get you gone, drummer, and finish the story so I can write it!”

By and by came the wedding day. As soon as he and his wife were alone together, he made her kneel for a wife promises to obey her husband. He emptied his milk into her mouth, spilled it in her hair, and let it pour over her white gown until her nipples clung to it. Then she knew the taste of him and recognized his prick with a shocked cry.

Up she stumbled – furious!

She would not be so easily claimed. It was a good thing the drummer was a brave fellow. He had been to the wars and wasn’t frightened by the fury of a witch. Forthwith he began to whip her as fiercely as he ever had. The princess ran in circles once again covering her buttocks here, her thighs there.

“I beg you, husband, cease punishing me! What must I do?”

“To your knees,” answered the drummer, “for a wife needs must be mounted.”

The princes quickly feel to her knees, lowered her cheek to the floor, and fearfully peered over her shoulder at the cock with which the drummer tumblr_mlqel1deBI1qfbon7o1_1280.pngmeant to break her. How sharply she cried out when he tugged back her hair and pierced her, as all wives are meant to be pierced from behind, and all in the same swift motion.

Then – poof! – she changed into a terrible were-panther! Her nose was black and her skin was covered by a fine and shiny fur. She bared her long white teeth, stretched her tongue, and gouged the floor with her nails but the drummer never stopped. He switched her hips until her spine began to curl to the shape of his thrusts.

Then – poof! – instead of a black cat there was a savage wolf – a werewolf – a woman in shape but with the fur of a wolf. Her tits hung under her, swinging with each thrust, jutting through the reddish coils of her fur. The nails of her fingers and toes fiercely clawed at the floor. Even so, her belly was growing hot and moist in answer to the cock that pierced it from behind, that would not cease, that was inside and would not leave.

Her thighs began to glisten.

Then – poof! – there was both the wolf and the panther. But no, the drummer was no more frightened of that than of a wolf or a cat separately. Dear, dear, dear! How he dressed his wife with the hazel switch and the thrusting in her womb. Then she was the princess again, her bottom lifted high behind her, her nipples pressed to the floor, reaching in front of her as though for a ledge that was not there. She slowly stiffened, her knees abruptly widening, her back arched until it was drawn tight as an archer’s bow, and her eyes turned upward.

She submitted, squeezing his cock again and again.

Forthwith the drummer poured as much as a husband ever poured in a wife’s belly. How she groaned! How she held perfectly still! “Oh dear husband!” she finally exhorted. “Let me go, for you have claimed me now, and I promise to be good all the days of my life.”

“Very well,” says the drummer, “and that is the tune I like to hear”

This was the way he tamed her, whether it was the milk, the hazel switch, or the heat, his own, that he put in her womb, for afterward she was as good a wife as ever churned butter; but what did it is a question you will have to answer for yourself. All the same she tried no more tricks with him, I can tell you. What of the squire, the knight and the Prince? Well, there must always be a one-eyed Witch to square the world of men and women, don’t you worry. And so this story comes to an end, like everything else in the world.

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Latest Comments

  1. paul1510 says:

    interesting, I don’t know this version, but there are many such.
    Interestingly explicate.

  2. poster says:

    My goodness, Mr C. Such a long, wonderful, twisted story, that even on a first skim offers many joys. I shall offer more comment when I have — er, found the time to explore further. And I note with interest the self-distractions to keep you from the Tentacles…

    • willcrimson says:

      It’s probably the most twisted erotic tale I’ve written.

      And I admit, after writing this and the last tentacle, I was kinda’ thinking to myself: Yeah, okay, that’s it. I’m moving to Normal after this — and staying there. Love poems, haiku, romance, sunsets, yoga, skim milk, whole wheat pasta, etc…

  3. Cara Thereon says:

    Wicked woman tamed. She wanted to be tamed in many ways. I don’t get the impression she’s any less dangerous simply submitting to the stronger party. None had accomplished it to that point. I can definitely understand to a degree.

    • willcrimson says:

      I’d agree with that. I almost added a passage wherein she sharpened his knife. For whom do you sharpen the knife? — he asks. Why, for you, dear husband, she answers.

  4. thehistorymistress says:

    Another brilliant retelling of a classic, a little twisted but very erotic. Your foreword reminded me of two childhood memories that I had half forgotten about until now…when I was about nine years old I was asked what I thought of the wolf in ‘Little Red Riding Hood.’ I remember feeling very embarrassed by the question and refusing to answer in front of the others, and the almost fearful look my teacher gave me, as though she had guessed. A memory that is buried even deeper is of a very old children’s book I think I was bought from a fair; I can’t remember what the story was about, just the accompanying illustration of a girl being tied to a chair by her two friends as they all dressed up as cowboys and Indians. I remember staring at the picture for hours, not understanding why, just knowing I was jealous of the little girl with all my heart.

    • willcrimson says:

      Very twisted. I too had experiences like that during childhood. Tying up and tying down were extremely evocative without my knowing why. Interesting how our nascent sexuality is in us even at a very young age.

  5. thehistorymistress says:

    It really is, I wonder if the authors of fairy tales and children’s books know what they’re doing? I can half imagine a publisher-parent withholding stories of beasts and dungeons from their own darlings, scared that their imaginations will take hold.

    Incidentally, what side of the fence did you settle on in the end? Tying up or tying down?

    • willcrimson says:

      Oh yes, absolutely. Perrault, living in the 1600’s, had this to say about Red Riding Hood:

      Especially attractive, well bred young ladies,
      Should never talk to strangers,
      For if they should do so, they may well provide dinner for a wolf.
      I say wolf, but there are various kinds of wolves.
      There are also those who are charming,
      Quiet, polite, unassuming, complacent, and sweet,
      Who pursue young women at home and in the streets.
      And unfortunately, it is these gentle wolves
      Who are the most dangerous ones of all.

      With many or most families living in a single room (the further back you go) a child’s exposure to sex was very normal and common. Parents were much less prudish. Sex was just a part of life; and I don’t think sexual abuse was any more or less prevalent than today. I don’t think it would have occurred to parents or publishers to withhold such stories until the Victorian era (when the whole concept of “chlidhood” got started).

      My fence had a gate, I went back and forth — and back and forth.

  6. thehistorymistress says:

    Thank you for recounting Perrault’s thoughts, really fascinating. I’d love to get my hands on some fifteenth century fairy tales, when the printing press was just picking up speed in Western Europe.

    And yes the Victorians had a terrible habit of trying to keep everything fun hidden, I think it would make for a pretty charged environment, which would be possibly very erotic indeed.

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