The Prince Transformed

Nothing much to say at the start here. Hope you're enjoying the way things are turning out! We're finally getting near to the end, and who knows what will happen to the royal family? Stay tuned for more :)

Once again, thanks to my editor moncrifelle for the great editing work.

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Perthias rubbed his eyes, yawning loudly. He had just had the strangest dream in which he and his family were ousted from their home and transformed into sex slaves, and then he had joined a resistance group to fight against the man who had . . . wait.

That was no dream, but reality. He was aware of a sudden softness pressing against him and looked down to see the arms of (and breasts) of Cythea around him. He must have fallen asleep during one of their lovemaking sessions. He reached down tenderly to caress her long silver hair, delighting in the little coos and murmurs his lover made as she shifted slightly. She was even more attractive in repose than in the act of coitus. He hadn't thought it possible that he would prefer her sleep-filled sighs to her cries of passion, but there it was.

It was strange. All this time his sister and mother had pestered him to get married and he had ignored their words, choosing instead to chase tail in the many inns and taverns of Erecia. He had bedded his fair share of maidens both slight and buxom, but none had been anything more than a passing fancy. And then, from nowhere, a beautiful elfslut appeared and captured his heart. It was strange indeed, but no stranger than being turned into a hulking giant of a man and pressed into military service against the mage who had stolen his home and kingdom.

Which reminded him—it was time to go to work. The transformed prince reluctantly disengaged himself from Cythea's arms, smiling a little at how she murmured in her sleep. Gods, she was so beautiful, and it wasn't just her body either. He loved her lilting laugh and tinkle of her laughter, her cheerful smile and enthusiastic nature.

He realized, too, that he didn't even know her that well. All he really did know about the voluptuous creature sleeping next to him was that she was an elfslut who was working with the resistance in some capacity. He hadn't even known her name until a day or so ago.

And yet, he couldn't deny the feelings that coursed through him when he looked at her. He felt affectionate, protective, and tender all at once. His heart beat faster, and he felt a stirring within his breast that he could feel all the way down to his toes.

Was this love? It certainly felt like it. He had no real basis for comparison—none of the other women he had slept with had elicited even a fraction of the emotions that he now felt. But if it were to cast his mind back to what the bards and minstrels sang of back in his other life, then yes, it very well might be— something that broke hearts and mended them, that lifted the spirit to heights beyond reckoning. And it seemed that for now at least he was its prisoner.

He slipped out of the huge feather bed that the resistance forces had kindly prepared for them. Strong though he was, he much preferred to make love on a proper bed rather than the cold stone floor. He stretched a little, loosening his muscles, and then exited the room, casting a last fond farewell glance at the sleeping Cythea. He would much rather spend the day in her caress, either asleep or making love, but he had a job to do. The word of a noble of Erecia was not something lightly given, and he planned to fulfill his duties appropriately, sex slave body be damned.

He emerged into the main hall of the mansion to see a council of war already in session. The hooded figure (Tyzhe? they all looked the same to him) was seated at a bench with some other men clad in plate and chain armor—soldiers, he assumed. They were assembled around a massive round table that took up most of the room. On top of it was a large weather-stained map of the castle of Erecia and its environs. Colored pieces of wood were strewn around its surface, and Perthias recognized them immediately for what they were—markers indicating troop positions and strength.

He spied Daphnia sitting at the edge of the table, and moved to join his sister. She waved at him absent-mindedly, intent on the display in front of her. Daphnia had never been one for military strategy, always preferring spells to swordcraft, but her keen mind could generally be relied upon to analyze any given situation and come up with a workable solution, which is what he guessed she was doing.

Tyzhe and the other men-at-arms were involved in a heated discussion regarding the finer points of their eventual deployment, but all of them looked up at his arrival, nodding their heads to acknowledge his presence. He nodded back and directed his attention to the map in front of them. There was no time to waste in pleasantries. He assumed they knew who he was, and he was in no real mood to introduce himself, anyway.

Perthias took a few minutes to familiarize himself with the terrain displayed in front of him. It was something he knew well enough—he was the prince of the land, after all, no matter how many lectures he had accidentally slept through. These were the hills that he had climbed as a small child, the forests he had hunted in, and the rivers that he had conducted many a training exercise around. But it was slightly unnerving to realize that this time he would be leading an assault against his homeland, and not defending it from an outsider.

Red for archers, blue for infantry, green for catapults . . . the prince's practiced eye scanned the map at length, committing every detail to memory. From what he could tell from the pieces arrayed in front of him, the resistance's forces were severely outmatched. They had the advantage in one area only—they could muster more cavalry than Rampillion, but the usefulness of horses was limited in forested areas. The resistance had better have a trick or two up its sleeve, or their planned rebellion would be a short one indeed.

"Do not worry, your Highness. We do indeed have something planned."

Perthias looked up into to meet Tyzhe's eyes. Or rather, where its eyes would have been if one could see past the inky blackness of his hood. It was as if he had read his mind. For all he knew, he did indeed do that.

"And would you care to share that with us?" Perthias tried and failed to keep the sting out of his voice. He was not the only member of the royal family that felt more than a little resentful of the way that the hooded figure/s seemed to pre-empt their thoughts and actions. While it was true that they had little choice but to cooperate now, the prince himself wished for a little more due consideration.

"Of course." If Tyzhe heard the implied criticism in his tone, he chose to ignore it. It was hard to tell—a large hood does wonders for hiding one's facial expressions. "We have enlisted the assistance of a powerful mage, who will lead our initial assault on the castle. Besides disabling the shields that Rampillion will no doubt erect upon noticing our forces, he will provide support in the form of fireballs that will be cast upon the fields directly around the castle. But beyond that, we will be on our own."

That changed matters a little. As the other men at the table fell into excited chatter, Perthias mused on how this might change his conception of the upcoming battle. He had never led a charge backed by magic before, but there was a first time for everything. Place the infantry behind the hills so that they would be able to attack after the fireballs had been cast, then move the cavalry into position behind them, archers to the rear to support . . . yes, yes, he could see how it might work.

"Princess Daphnia." Tyzhe's voice cut through the fog of his rumination. "We will require your assistance as well."

"Me?" Daphnia looked up, startled. "But I have no magical powers left. In this body, I couldn't so much as cast a simple light spell."

"But you do still possess your arcane knowledge, do you not? That is something that Rampillion's magic could not steal from you, and that is what we have need of."

All eyes at the table turned to the princess, who met them with a steely gaze of her own.

"What would you have me do? Come up with some new spells? I could easily do so, but I would have no way of casting them."

"Nothing so drastic, your Highness. We would simply require your assistance in a ritual of our own devising. Also, I believe the usurper has not cut off your connection to the mana flow entirely. There may yet be a way out of your predicament, but it is too early for us to say."

"Is that true?" Daphnia fought to keep the excitement out of her tone. "Can you restore my magic to me?"

"Patience, your Highness. I know that it wears on you, but this is something will take time to effect, if it is at all possible. We do not wish to tantalize you with false hope. All I can say at this moment is that your assistance will be required in the ritual magic that will help us overtake the castle."

The transformed princess nodded heavily, heaving a sigh as she did so. It was too good to be true. If the usurper's magic could be so readily dispelled, then they would have done it a while ago. Still, Daphnia took heart in the fact that she would be not completely useless in the battle to come. Waiting did not come easily to the princess of Erecia, and she was heartened at the chance to do something—anything! —to aid in the efforts to reclaim her throne and kingdom.

The conversation continued to drag on as the council progressed. Planning a war was no easy feat, and there were a thousand and one things that needed to be sorted out. Who would command which battalion? What was the order of command? Where would each of them be stationed when the charge commenced? All these questions and more had to answered, each with the knowledge that no battle plan truly survives first contact with the enemy. The best they could do was plan to the best of their knowledge, and then trust to the gods for the rest.

It was nearly evening when the meeting had come to its close, and by then an all-too familiar itch had begun to affect Daphnia and Perthias. Once again, they tried their best to resist its effects, but there was only so much they could do to forestall the urges of their transformed bodies. Daphnia began fidgeting restlessly, and Perthias shifted uncomfortably at the sudden tightness in his breeches.

Tyzhe noticed the royals' discomfort and signaled that they should adjourn. Perthias let out a sigh that he hadn't realized he had been holding. Finally! He yearned for Cythea's light touch and eager mouth. He rose from the table, sketching a quick bow, and fairly sprinted back to his bedchambers.

He found the elfslut lounging on the bed in a pose calculated to inflame his desire. She had her legs wide open and arms thrown carelessly to the sides, the silver spray of her hair spread like a shining puddle on the bedsheets. She looked both infinitely desirable and completely vulnerable all at once. He had no idea if it was on purpose or accidental, but he stiffened in seconds upon seeing her.

Cythea roused herself upon his entrance, smiling sweetly at him.

"Hello, my sweet prince. Come to visit me?" she cooed.

He didn't answer with words. Instead, he strode forwards and swept her up in his burly arms, delighting in her shriek of surprise. Then, before she could say anything else, he pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her deeply and roughly. He felt her melt in his arms, and marveled at the wondrous perfection of her body, curved and rounded in the way that only an elfslut could be.

He proceeded to palm her giant tits, feeling a surge of satisfaction at how her nipples stiffened at this touch. With his other hand, he reached down to her nether regions, feeling her juices coat his questing fingers. She was apparently as glad to see him and he was to see her.

Finally, he broke the kiss, tossing her onto the bed. She landed with catlike grace, twisting around to gaze at him with wild desire in her eyes. She panted lightly, her massive breasts heaving, and licked her lips so lasciviously that Perthias felt a slight thrill of fear go through him.

One thing was clear— they'd had enough foreplay. The prince vaulted onto the bed, thankful that its sturdy oaken frame could support his increased weight. Before he could so much as move, though, Cythea was on him, swallowing his engorged organ in one lightning-fast motion. Perthias groaned in pleasure, the sensations from his groin robbing him of all conscious thought.

The elfslut fellated him expertly, her tongue alternately dancing over the head of his penis in light touches and giving the undersides long, slow strokes. She sucked some of the time, licked some of the other, and even bit ever-so gently down once or twice. Perthias could not last long under such an assault, and in less than a minute he was came furiously into her waiting mouth. He spurted great gouts of semen down her gullet, but Cythea swallowed it all as easily as drinking water. When it was over she released her hold on his organ, then laid back down on the bed and spread her legs wide.

The message was clear—it was his turn next. Perthias hastened to do his duty. Prince or no prince, he needed no instruction to know that one should return any favor that was done to him. So, he dove into the crevasse between her legs with gusto, laving her pussy like a drowning man. She bucked and squirmed under his attentions. While not as good with his tongue as his lover, Perthias acquitted himself well enough, and he was rewarded for his efforts by a fountain of salty liquid that gushed into his mouth as Cythea crested her peak.

As she moaned in the throes of orgasm, she clamped her legs around his head in a vise-like grip that he feared for a moment might take his head off, but as her climax passed she relaxed, falling back onto back on the bed with a contented sigh.

The lovers took a while to catch their respective breaths. But when each was ready, they eyed each other hungrily and prepared themselves for another round. Fellatio and cunnilingus were all well and good, but when it came time to truly scratch their itches, nothing except a good old-fashioned fucking would suffice.

Cythea got on all fours, waving her rounded ass in his face and shooting him an inviting glance. Perthias didn't need to be asked twice. He grabbed the elfslut and thrust into her savagely, causing both of them to gasp in pleasure at his sudden penetration. It felt so good to be inside her! The way her velvety folds gripped his shaft, the hot wetness of her pussy cradling his erect organ . . . if this wasn't heaven, Perthias was sure it was close.

From the way she moaned and clawed the bedsheets, Perthias was fairly sure that she was enjoying herself as much as he was. But now wasn't the time for thought, but for action. A few thrusts later and he was coming into her, jetting another heavy load of semen into her willing tunnel. Rather than becoming flaccid, though, his organ retained its tumescence, his transformed body granting him stamina beyond all normal human limits. He continued to hammer into her, and this time she started thrusting back at him as well. A minute or so of frenzied fucking later and she had cum, and then he did, and then she did again . . . in a daisy chain of orgasms that had them breathless.

They had made love countless times since their second meeting, but to Perthias, each time was as fresh and new as the first. There were so many things to explore about her body—and what a body it was! Her sky-blue skin, the sweet curves of her hips, the rondure of her behind, the taste of nectar on his tongue—and who could forget her silver hair and the supremely rounded spheres of her breasts. He could lose himself in her for hours. There wasn't enough time in the day for him to fully appreciate every aspect of her.

One or two rounds barely took off the edge of their desire, and it was only after their fourth orgasm— mutual this time—that Perthias had recovered enough presence of mind to return to himself. He motioned to her to stop—he needed a break—and she did, but not without pouting at him slightly first. Sweat glistened on her brow, but the hunger in her eyes had dimmed somewhat, and she didn't look like she would jump on him—at least, not immediately.

Now that they had slaked their thirst for coitus somewhat, Perthias turned to a new desire to be quenched, namely, curiosity. There was so much he wanted to know about his lover but never had time to ask, and so he took this opportunity to do so.

"Where are you from? Why have you joined the resistance? Were you transformed, as I was?" The queries tumbled from his lips in a rush, one after another.

Cythea paused, considering, then shot him another naughty glance. Blinking at him saucily, she replied in her lilting voice, "Let us make a bet. If you can make me cum before you, I will answer your questions to the best of my ability. If not, I won't."

A bet? Perthias was taken slightly aback, but soon recovered. He found himself nodding without even thinking about it. There wasn't much for him to lose, in any case. Whether he triumphed or was defeated, he would be making love to her, and that counted as a victory in his book.

Cythea smiled at him—a playful, wicked smile—and spread her legs apart again, far wider than she ever had before. He gazed at her pussy in rapt attention as some of the evidence of their past activities leaked from it, a mixture of white and clear fluids that trickled down to stain the bedsheets. It was as beautiful as the rest of her—a flower of pink flesh, topped with the single rosy red of her clitoris.

He grabbed each of her legs in a tight hold and thrust back into her. This time he used every ounce of his strength to penetrate as deeply as he could. Her spread legs afforded him an angle of entry that allowed him to bottom out into her depths. Prince and elfslut both let out a long, slow moan as ecstasy raced through them, and for a few moments neither of them moved, instead choosing to savor the sensation of being sheathed in one another.

Cythea was the first to recover. She grinned up at Perthias—the same naughty smile—and flexed her inner muscles around his cock. Gritting his teeth against the pulses of pleasure her actions caused, Perthias began to move in earnest.

This was unlike any of their previous acts of congress. It was a battle, a race to the finish that he was determined to win. Whoever came first would lose, and he was going to try his hardest not to. So, he leveraged his strength as best as he knew how, powering into her with long, slow, deep strokes that were calculated to wrest control from her writhing and quivering body.

Or at least, that was his intention. After a few minutes of fucking, it soon became evident that he was fighting a losing battle. While he was sure that his actions were having an effect—Cythea's moans as she whipped her head around in ecstasy were testament to that fact—the very steps he was taking to win also proved to be his undoing. With each thrust into her delectable body, he came closer to the edge as well. She was just too irresistible—the way her body flexed around him, massive breasts bouncing, hair flying every which way as they slammed into each other. All that, and how her pussy muscles clenched around his turgid rod in a vise-like grip that was both steel and velvet all at once.

Sweat beaded on his brow. He looked down to see her smiling up at her, the little minx. Without taking her eyes off him, she squeezed his cock just a little more, then proceeded to do so at regular intervals in a pulsating rhythm that threatened to make him spew the contents of his penis into her far ahead of when he was ready to do so. He had no idea where she had learned this little trick. None of the other elfsluts he had fucked knew it, but it was mind-numbingly effective.