[Warning: This story contains vivid descriptions of a sweaty, nasty, stinky cock and all the stuff that comes with it. If you do not like excessive filthy cock-musk and smegma, then no need to read any further.]
Prince Enguerrand Vauquelin DeMontcharmant the Sixth (Or, as his friends called him, prince Rand, or sometimes just Rand) evaluated the new pairs of trousers that laid on his lavish bed. Special pants had to be custom-made for him, because of his... gift.
Like every other member of the royal lineage, he had been visited at birth by fairy godmothers, as well as the kingdom's malicious witch of the wood, who had laid a curse on every member of his family, ever since the days of Prince Enguerrand Vauquelin DeMontcharmant the First.
Rand's great-grandfather had been cursed with a forgetful mind and had died during a great fire that destroyed a third of the castle, after he had forgotten to close the oven when he went to cook himself some potatoes in the middle of the night. Rand's grandfather had been cursed with a weak constitution, dying of pneumonia at twenty. Rand's father was cursed with poor hearing, going deaf before he even had a full beard growing.
The worst was that the maleficent hag always claimed that her curses were gifts. "You will not hold any bad memories in your old age; You will be an excellent host; You will never hear any disparaging remarks from your people."
Now a young man of eighteen years, Rand was straddled with a horrifying, monstrous dong. "The dick of a donkey", he had overheard one of the castle's servants claim.
His penis and his testicles were obscenely large, and he had a painfully strong libido. Every night, he had to relieve himself, trying his best to find a place to dispose of his monumental loads. He had recently opted to use the chamber pot, although it was barely big enough to contain the result of even one orgasm.
He also had to take frequent baths, to avoid his crotch from festering, as his production of sweat and musk in that area was stupefying. Two days without cleaning and the stench of his enormous cock would stun a bear.
It did have some advantages, however. Several serving girls and noble ladies within the castle (and a handful of serving boys as well) now treated him with adoration, hoping that the well-endowed prince might shag them in secret.
But Rand's hand had been promised to the princess of the neighboring kingdom, princess Hélène Marie D'Andromelle. He had met her once and had found her incredibly dull and snobbish, but Rand was an honorable man and would do what's right for the greater good of his kingdom.
He was still deciding on which pair to try on first when news of his squire's whereabouts reached him. Yvon of Arpense, his childhood best friend and loyal squire, had disappeared suddenly the night before.
A serving girl had brought Rand a note that she claimed she had found in Yvon's room. It was a message written by the loathsome witch herself: "Meet me at Old Man Richard's cabin, deep within the royal woods, alone, or I will end your squire's life."
Without delay, the honorable prince ventured alone into the woods, armed with his sword and bow, fully prepared to slay the monster once and for all. He believed it was his destiny to slay the creature, to save his royal lineage from her tainted yoke for the good of his family and the kingdom.
He walked among the trees for three days, knowing fully that the stench in his pants would be unbearable upon his return. But he soldiered on, determined to find and rescue his friend.
Old Man Richard's cabin had been named generations ago for a man that had died before Rand's father had even been born. It was more plants than house now, with thick leafy vines growing over the walls and a tree peeking through a hole in the roof.
He unsheathed his sword and, with a war cry to make his ancestors proud, kicked the door open.
Yvon and an older lady looked at him with wide open eyes. They were sitting down at a remarkably well-preserved wooden table, sipping tea out of fine porcelain cups.
Yvon dropped his cup and turned to the woman. "Take you for the tea, my lady. I shall now take my leave." He stood up and came to Rand's side.
"What is the meaning of this?" The prince asked, feeling more confused than anything.
"She is actually quite a nice woman. She admitted to me that she never truly meant to hurt me, she just wanted to get you away from the castle. You know how your family can be... hot-headed when it comes to dealing with her kind."
The prince looked at the woman. She had a warm smile, but he couldn't chase the feeling that this was some form of trap.
"I'll let you two chat," Yvon said as he walked out, closing the door behind him.
"Prince Enguerrand, it is a pleasure to finally meet you. Although, we have met once before, but you were an infant, I doubt you remember me." She sipped the last of her tea. "I am here to mend the bridges between us. Between my kind and your family, I mean. We have been at odds for far too long."
A ray of light illuminated the witch, making her fair skin and bright blond hair shine. Rand had heard enough tales about her that he couldn't help but expect the worst.
"Show me your true face, hag. I know that this is a glamour intended to charm me. It will not work!"
The witch looked at him with her head tilted sideways. "You are right, prince. A subterfuge of the arcane kind isn't very polite, I apologize."
She stood up and slowly, the air around her turned into thick black smoke. The house went dark, causing the prince to walk back into the wall, his sword drawn and pointing forward. He would not succumb to fear! He was a strong-willed man, the last descendant of the great house DeMontcharmant, and he would never let himself be defeated by...
The black cloud dissipated, revealing the true form of the witch. Although, with her impressive solemnity, Rand thought that the title of "Evil Queen" might've been more proper.
She was tall. Taller than him, by a wide margin. Well over six foot, maybe even seven. Her wide form was covered by a skin-tight black dress of some rich fabric, silk perhaps. Rand's eyes glazed over the green skin and the thick shiny obsidian ram-horns atop her head, for he was mesmerized by her massive, obscene curves.
Fat tits that would shame a cow's udders hung from her chest, the lewd shape of her thick nipples peeking through the fabric. Her waist wasn't small, but it was dwarfed by her enormous hips and the prince could only imagine the chair-shattering rear behind her. The dress was open on the side, below her waist, allowing him a glimpse of her soft green thighs. His sword fell from his hands.
