Naughty Fairy Tales: The Complete 6 Story Collection - AJ Tipton - ebook

Fairy Tales like you've never seen them before. In a magical kingdom far away, there lived cursed princes, warrior women, and powerful heroes. This six-book collection features sexy Gender Swapped retellings of the classic fairy tales: Cinderella, Red Riding Hood, Sleeping Beauty, Beauty & the Beast, Snow White, and Rapunzel. The heroes have become heroines, the heroines have become heroes, and nothing is as it seems. What the Queen Wills: In this steamy FFM polyamorous tale of seduction, liberation, and intoxicating strangers, even the humblest of peasants has a shot with the Queen if she so wills. Hunting Red: This mature romance involves valiant swashbuckling, stormy love-making, and a villain you'll want to sink your teeth into. Breaking the Curse: Raven’s Royal Mate: This sexy adult retelling of Sleeping Beauty involves light bondage, drunken sorcerers, and a love strong enough to defy magic. Handsome and the Beast: This Gender Swapped fairy tale for adults features sexy FFM threesomes, beastly makeovers, and a tale that’s older than time.Snow Truer Love: This mature romance features sexy adventures, feisty dwarves, and the most beautiful love of all. Hair Apparent: This sexy novella for adults includes high-risk hijinks, dangerous creatures who pun, and a love that even magic can’t predict. These STANDALONE novellas can be read in any order. There are no cliffhangers, and each short ends as it should: happily ever after.

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Naughty Fairy Tales

The Complete 6 Story Collection

AJ Tipton

Copyright © AJ Tipton 2015 The right of AJ Tipton to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 (or other similar law, depending on your country). All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the author, except in cases of brief quotations embodied in reviews or articles. It may not be edited, amended, lent, resold, hired out, distributed or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s written permission. Permission can be obtained from

This book is for sale to adult audiences only. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and incidents appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is purely coincidental.

All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

Cover art photos provided by, Morgue Files,, and Graphic design by LydiaChai


What the Queen Wills

Hunting Red

Breaking the Curse

Handsome and the Beast

Snow Truer Love

Hair Apparent

Letter from the Authors

Meet AJ Tipton

What the Queen Wills

Eliot’s face hit the wood floor with a wet thump. His head spun from the impact and his vision blurred so badly he almost didn’t see the leather boot swinging towards his ribs. He absorbed the hit, letting a cry escape his lips. A drop of blood hit the floor and he hoped the cut on this forehead wouldn’t leave a scar.

Well, this is a bit of an overreaction.

Eliot grit his teeth and clenched his fists, trying to resist his natural impulse to fight back. He was taller and stronger than both of his older brothers; he could easily thrash them both if he wanted to.

But that wouldn’t be right, he told himself for the third time. I owe them so much.

“Eat this, you spineless twerp!” Artie, the oldest, said as he ground ashes from the banked fireplace all over Eliot's face, then spat on him. Artie was built like a boxer, muscular but short. Shadows from the fires of the wall torches made him look like a squatting troll. “Nobody would want a freak like you at their Gathering.”

Artie's cracking voice echoed off the walls of the dank servants’ quarters. They'd already broken three of the chairs and Eliot just hoped they didn't use the fireplace pokers as more weapons for his punishment. The cinders covering his face itched and burned where they made contact with the cut on his forehead.

“Tell ‘em, Artie!” Mitch, the middle brother, chimed in, contributing nothing as usual. As short as his brother, Mitch was slender where Artie was wide, with a beak-like nose and bad posture that exacerbated his weasel-like appearance. He leaned against one of the old carved wardrobes, picking his teeth with grimy fingernails.

Eliot had nearly made it to a Gathering this time. He’d received his very own invitation, the first ever specifically addressed to him. He had barely believed it at the time.

The toe of Artie’s boot got him in the stomach and Eliot wheezed. So it was too good to be true after all.

He’d known his brothers didn’t approve of him going to town Gatherings, considering his affliction. If it wasn’t for the encouragement of their maid, Amelia, he never would have dared to try and go at all. Eliot assumed, or at least hoped, that despite their tough love, they would be happy to see he was invited. He hadn’t realized his brothers would react so strongly to catching him trying put his costume together.

He knew now. They’d caught him in the middle of getting dressed, nearly bare except for the few strips of fabric necessary for an appropriate Gathering outfit: a serviceable codpiece out of his brothers’ throw-away scraps of leather and belts.

They’d burst in, radiating fury. The crisscrossing blue veins in Artie’s forehead protruded with rage to an alarming degree. Mitch, meanwhile, didn’t look so much angry as gleeful—with an unprecedented level of sweat dripping from his forehead to show it—at Eliot’s anticipated punishment.

“We raised you, you ungrateful dipshit. What makes you think you have the right to do anything without our permission?” Artie’s voice cracked halfway through the last word.

Another boot slammed into Eliot’s chest, knocking the air out of his lungs. Mitch took his cues from Artie, kicking at the same spot Artie’s foot just struck.

“Yeah, we fucking raised you, you oversized runt,” Mitch repeated.

As Eliot curled into a ball, heaving for breath, Artie and then Mitch turned on Amelia, fists clenched and deep V’s in their foreheads signaling their anger wasn’t purged yet.

Eliot felt a cold stillness fill his chest as his brothers advanced on Amelia. She had only been working with them for a few months, a lithe blonde in her early twenties whose kindness had surprised him from the start.

But then, she didn’t know about his affliction. His brothers had told him as soon as he hit puberty that any woman who knew about his condition wouldn’t want to be anywhere near him.

Amelia was too beautiful, sweet and kind to ever consider being with someone like Eliot, but he adored her nonetheless. Eliot couldn’t stand the thought of any harm coming to her. As Mitch advanced upon her, Amelia tried to get behind one of the chairs and made a grab for one of the skillets hanging on the wall. Artie was too fast.

“And you, bitch!” Artie bellowed, grabbing her forearm and swinging her around to face him. “Who gave you the goddamn right to interfere?” He sniffed in her face, capturing her wrists with both hands. “You thought this little turd could actually go to a Gathering?”

Mitch moved towards the restrained woman, snorting and giggling under his breath. “Yeah, you ain’t got the right, bitch!”

This isn’t right! Eliot couldn't watch any more. He leapt to his feet, ignoring the pain screaming from the bruises and cuts all over his body. His brothers had treated Eliot like a disobedient mule all his life, but watching them prey on an innocent woman like Amelia was too much to bear. He clenched a fist and swung hard, rolling his hips as his shoulder rotated, knocking Artie to the ground.

Blood sprayed across the room. Artie’s nasal bone was no match for Eliot’s punch and shattered on impact. Mitch immediately ran from the room, letting out a high-pitched, nasal scream as he fled. Artie wobbled on his feet, pinching his nose to stem the flow of blood running down his chin.

“You better stay here, freak.” He spat, sending a small mist of blood out into the well-kept room. “You know where you belong.” He stumbled out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

“Are you okay?” Amelia’s voice was barely a whisper. Her hands trembled as she crept across the room, her fingers nervously combing her mussed hair back into place.

Eliot crumpled to the floor, bruises already beginning to bloom on his exposed skin. “I just need a minute...ow!”

Amelia dropped to her knees beside him, her hands already probing Eliot’s flesh, expertly examining his wounds. He couldn't help noticing the perfect curve of her full lips. They were so red and plump, they looked painted. “It doesn’t feel like you have any broken bones, so that’s good news at least.” She smiled up at him, her bright blue eyes shining.

Eliot struggled to think of anything other than the feel of her hands on his body. Despite his best efforts, his dick began to grow hard, pressing into the scant fabric of his half-sewn codpiece. “I’m sorry they were so rough with you,” he said, working to keep his voice steady. “They’re not bad people.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow and snorted softly, but her gentle hands continued their examination. Her fingers caressed and explored the muscular flesh of his back. He had to stifle a moan as she ran her fingers over his shoulder blades, his ribs, his spine. Her hands were so soft and delicate, and he relished every touch. No woman had ever touched him like this.

Her touch felt heavenly, not only because of the smoothness of her caresses, but knowing the sweet strokes were from Amelia, the gentle soul he already admired so much; her every probing touch sent shivers of want to his cock.

“They are bad people, Eliot,” she said. “You shouldn’t let them treat you the way they do.” Amelia’s hands wandered down to Eliot’s bare legs as she spoke. Her eyes focused on the bulge forming beneath the leather codpiece. “We can keep going, if you want?” Her big blue eyes looked into Eliot’s, almost daring him.

“Forget the costume. I’m not going to the Gathering.” Eliot’s voice was soft in defeat. He couldn’t resist the urge to reach out and touch her. He slowly stroked his fingertips up and down Amelia’s arm, smiling as she shivered at his attention.

Amelia's amazing mouth curved up in a wicked grin. “We can have our own party right here.”

Eliot nearly fell over in surprise as Amelia slid into his lap, capturing his lips with her own. He groaned against her luscious mouth as he ran his hands up and down her back, pulling her close while unzipping her dress. Amelia wrapped her legs around Eliot’s back, rubbing her core against the soft ridges of his abs as she wriggled her arms and chest out of her dress. He helped pull the fabric off her body and jumped a little as her hard nipples rubbed up and down his chest.

“You should know something,” he started to say before she grabbed his face and pulled his lips down to cover her peaked nipple. He quickly flicked his tongue against the sensitive flesh, loving her deep moan of pleasure.

He was becoming painfully hard against Amelia’s leg, and he savored each moment of contact as she squirmed and writhed against him. He moved his mouth up her chest in a series of small kisses until he reached the nape of her neck, sucking at her delicate skin. He moved his hand slowly up her stomach and ribs until he reached her breast, kneading and molding the tender flesh still damp from his tongue.

Amelia pulled his head up from her neck, eyes dark with lust. “Take me now.”

“Yes.” He growled against her skin. Eliot gently guided Amelia down to the hardwood floor, peppering her with kisses and gentle bites. His hand dipped down to her core, stroking her swollen folds. “You’re so wet.” She squirmed against his hand, her own hands pawing at the scrap of fabric between her and Eliot’s swollen cock.

“But you really need to know," he yelped as she bit into his forearm, "Before we do this, I’ve got to tell you.” He cupped her lovely face and looked into her eyes. ”The reason I shouldn’t go to the Gatherings—the reason my brothers call me a freak—is that I’ve got an affliction.”

“Affliction?” Her gaze wandered up and down his well-muscled torso. “There's nothing wrong with you that I can see.”

“It's because you don't know about my abnormally-sized cock,” he wanted to close his eyes so he wouldn't see the disappointed look on her face when she heard. “I know women find it repugnant but…” Eliot took a deep breath in, willing himself to continue his sentence. She’s going to find out; I might as well be honest. “I...Well, I’ve got a really big dick.”

Amelia slowly blinked once. Twice. “I want to see,” she said, more calmly than he’d imagined. Any second she is going to run screaming out of here. He let go of her face and watched with a helpless dread as she rushed to untie the last strap securing Eliot’s codpiece.

“Oh my.” She smiled, wrapping her delicate hand around his massive girth. Her hand barely made it all the way around. “Eliot, I don’t know how to tell you this.” She lifted her hips and guided his cock to her entrance, her breath speeding up as the enormous shaft neared her wet crease. ”But your affliction? It’s awesome.”

“So you’re actually okay with it?” Eliot resisted the urge to immediately sink into Amelia’s velvety warmth. He couldn’t believe she was being so understanding about his horrible curse. The woman was clearly a saint.

“More than okay. Trust me. Any woman would be more than okay.” Amelia pulled him closer and kissed him hard, making Eliot’s head spin with lust.

He leaned forward and thrust deep into Amelia, hearing her gasp as she took his full length inside her. She felt amazing: so soft and wet and tight around his cock. He could feel his heart pounding through his chest as he worked in her, moving slowly at first to allow her to adjust to his size. He ran his fingers down her thighs as he thrust, leaving behind trails of white flesh that flashed back to pink as he released her.

Everything about her was glorious; the way she tossed her head back as she groaned beneath him, the way her legs gripped him and she thrust up to meet him, the way her mouth felt along his chest.

He could tell she was close: her eyes closed in ecstasy and her breath came in short pants. Her bucking hips under him matched him thrust for thrust.

“Eliot! Yes! Fuck!” She writhed on the floor, becoming increasingly incoherent as her moans increased in volume and enthusiasm.

“Cum for me, Amelia, I need you to cum for me,” he panted and bit her gently on the nipple as he slid his hand down to where their bodies met and rubbed against her clit.

She opened her mouth to say something else, but her voice came out as a desperate whimper. He slammed his swollen member into her faster and harder until her walls convulsed and spasmed around him, sending him over the edge. Stars exploded behind his eyes and he spilled his seed inside her.

“Thank fuck!” His roar shook the pans against the wall.

They lay still for a few minutes as Eliot softened inside her passage and their breath steadied.

Finally, Amelia pushed against Eliot’s chest for him to roll off. “Thank fuck,” she said like a prayer as she looked at him. “That was amazing. You know your brothers are assholes, right? Your only affliction is that you have a truly astounding gift for sex.”

The wooden floor felt cold after laying on Amelia’s warm flesh, but she nestled against him, resting her head on his heaving pectorals.

“I want to believe you,” Eliot breathed, running a hand up and down her smooth thigh. “It’s just hard to believe so much I’ve been told about myself is a lie.”

She played gently with his chest hair. “But do you believe your brothers are capable of lying to you?”

He didn't say anything, just studied the pattern of cobwebs on the ceiling.

“Yes, that's what I thought,” she said softly. She chewed on her lower lip and tilted Eliot's head so he would look at her. “You know I care about you, but I don’t think I’m safe here anymore. Your brothers won't ever forgive me for helping you here. And you can't be around all the time to protect me from both of them.” Her voice was so soft he barely heard her words.

Eliot wanted nothing more than to cling to her, to bury himself into her night after night, finding new ways to make her body keen and shake. But he knew she was right. His brothers were far too short-tempered to be trusted with someone as pure and good as Amelia.

He nodded and rested his head against her breast, listening to the sound of her beating heart one last time.

He had to let her go.

Amelia’s heels clicked on the stone palace hallways. Her arms were a little tired from the morning spent hauling padding down from storage for the Gathering, but at least here she didn’t have to worry about an unwelcome pinch from Mitch’s weaselly hands. Nothing brought down Queen Cassandra’s—may-she-cum-long-and-hard—ire quicker than sexual advances without consent. The last butler who grabbed a maid’s ass without her verbal permission got his hands chopped off.

The sound of Amelia’s heels echoed off the arched passageways, bouncing off the stained glass windows depicting scenes of epic heroic lovemaking between historic Crispin kings and queens.

Eliot should see these, Amelia thought to herself as passed a window depicting a stylized portrait of the great King Jayne, his erect cock so huge it was nearly level with his shoulders. Kneeling men and women filled the bottom of the pane, arms outstretched in worship of his enormous dick, with tiny jewels of drool dripping from their mouths. If Eliot was here,he’d never believe his shitbag brothers again about women hating big dicks.

Amelia sighed a little, adjusting the overflowing basket of corsets in her arms so the leather and lace bodices didn’t slide off each other. She tried to ignore the pang in her gut when she remembered sweet Eliot left alone with his brothers in that dismal old house. It had been a little over a month since she left, but she missed seeing his face every day. With her gone, he would be stuck with all the chores, and if his brothers’ social schedules suffered because he couldn’t sew a straight seam in leather, she knew Artie wouldn’t hesitate to pound Eliot into the ground.

Her fellow maids hustled past, carrying baskets of toys and costumes for the Gathering, their short uniforms with fluffy skirts barely covering anything, garter-buckled tights and corsets pushing their busts sky-high.

Queen Cassandra—may-she-cum-long-and-hard—has excellent taste, Amelia thought to herself as the parade of legs and cleavage walked past. The butlers were equally busy in their tight leather vests and skin-tight assless chaps, carrying lamps and covered serving dishes to the various alcoves serving as play rooms for the Gathering.

One particularly fine ass belonging to a tall valet with black hair who gave her a wink and a tiny shimmy as he walked by. He wasn’t nearly as gorgeous as Eliot, but she obligingly winked back with a tiny smile. She wouldn’t toss that ass out of bed. The longing in her loins still burned. He was no Eliot. He was no Queen Cassandra either, for that matter.

Amelia had only caught a glimpse of the queen when she first arrived at the palace, but Amelia already felt a little drunk whenever she thought about the queen’s magnificence.

Queen Cassandra was beauty and power personified: tall, polished, her perfectly rounded breasts always tastefully displayed, with her long legs crossed over one knee in perfect poise, and her brown hair spilling down over her statuesque figure like a goddess from storybooks.

Amelia could feel warm dampness spreading across her core as she tried to keep her face composed. The overflowing basket of corsets in her hands threatened to topple over any second, but the brush of lace and satin against her fingertips only fed her fantasies about the queen’s flawless skin under her hands, under her tongue.

It wasn’t just the queen’s beauty that enthralled her. The longer Amelia was at the palace, the more she was impressed with Queen Cassandra’s improvements. Gatherings had always been a staple of Crispin history and culture, but she turned them from meaningless hedonistic sex parties for the rich to elite soirees open to anyone who could demonstrate skilled sexual prowess. The cultural tradition was now embraced by all levels of society to an unprecedented degree, assisted by the newly-developed STD immunizations as well as fool-proof oral birth control for both men and women.

Oh, if only there was a way to pair Eliot’s amazing cock with Queen Cassandra’s flawless body...

Amelia was so distracted thinking of the possibilities that she nearly walked into one of the palace security guards making rounds in the hallway. Amelia recognized Lola immediately. She was of Queen Cassandra’s inner circle, her mass of black, winding braids and violet eyes distinguishing her as one of the most memorable members of staff.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Lola said, grabbing two of the corsets off the top of Amelia’s basket before they fell off.

“Thanks,” Amelia mumbled, shaking herself free of a vivid day-dream where Eliot’s cock filled her mouth while Cassandra’s tongue lapped between her legs.

“So, you all busy getting ready for the Gathering?” Lola said cheerily. The smiling woman held up the two corsets she’d grabbed in front of her. One was a bright blue with yellow ribbons along the front making a crisscross pattern like a Mayfair pole. The other was black leather edged with red lace along the bustle and a long overlapping satin skirt hanging in waves down the back. Lola put the blue and yellow back on top of Amelia’s pile, arranging the stack so it was slightly more stable, then tucked the black lace corset into her guard jacket.

“This one is too good for the masses.” Lola winked at Amelia. When Amelia opened her mouth, Lola held up a metal-gloved hand. “Don’t worry your pretty blonde head. I’ll tell Cassy about this when I see her.” She caught the eye of somebody standing behind Amelia in the hallway and made a tiny wave. As Amelia turned her head to see who Lola was signaling, Lola grabbed her chin and forced her head to continue to look only at Lola’s grinning face.

“So tell me, New Girl, what’s this Gathering about anyway?”

“Umm…” Amelia’s mind raced. Lola’s smooth hand on her chin distracted her. Who is standing behind me? “Queen Cassandra—may-she-cum-long-and-hard—just concluded successful trade agreements with the kingdom of Magners and we’re celebrating the new boost to the country’s economy?” Her voice rose slightly at the end in a question. Amelia was nearly sure that was the reason for this particular Gathering. It was either that or the successful diplomatic peace treaty with Magners, but she was pretty sure there was a trade agreement involved as well. No nation could rival Crispin for their export of satin, silks, and body augmentation costumes.

Only Queen Cassandra could leverage our talents for designing bustiers and codpieces to increase the gross national product.

Amelia could feel herself getting aroused again. She forced herself to think of Mitch’s lips to cool herself down and keep her face looking professionally friendly at Lola.

“Huh, sounds very impressive,” Lola said dismissively as she started to riffle through the stack of corsets in Amelia’s arms. Amelia could feel her temper rising as a blazing heat in her cheeks.

“It is impressive! Queen Cassandra is the best ruler we’ve had in three centuries!” She snatched the basket away from Lola’s inquisitive hands.

“May-she-cum-long-and-hard,” Lola added for her, a slight smirk on her face.

“Yes,” Amelia said, deflating. May-she-cum-long-and-hard. It was the traditional honorific that everyone had to say after the queen‘s name, but today—with Eliot so much on her mind—the words felt more sincere than usual.

The blush Amelia had been trying to keep off her face built and spread as she pictured the queen on her back atop satin sheets, toes curled in intense orgasm. This time, the fantasy included Eliot on top of the queen, his dick spearing the queen’s cunt as Amelia rode the queen’s face and her majesty’s tongue licked at Amelia’s clit.

“Hello? You in there?” Lola waved her hand in front of Amelia’s face. “Did you just have a stroke? Because I can go grab a medic if you just had a stroke.”

“No, no, I was just thinking about somebody who is never going to be invited to the Gathering.” And how his dick would look pounding into the queen. Probably best not to finish that thought out loud.

“Oh, is he really awful in bed? Because you know the rules of the kingdom. Anyone who knows their way around pleasure spots is eligible for an invitation.” Lola’s eyes glanced behind Amelia so fast Amelia wasn’t sure she saw Lola’s eyes actually move.

“No!” Amelia said quickly. “His body is a miracle. His cock is the biggest I’ve ever seen and he can do wonders with his tongue. He just has these two wicked brothers who are so jealous of him they keep him under lock and—”

“Name and address. Now,” said a female voice draped like confident silk from behind Amelia’s shoulder. Amelia turned like she was in a trance and found her eyes locked on Queen Cassandra’s—may-she-cum-long-and-hard—deep chocolate eyes.

Amelia’s mouth moved on its own accord, spilling out Eliot’s name and address in one breath as her eyes roamed the queen’s exquisite face. Queen Cassandra’s heart-shaped face should have looked delicate, but the shapely arch of her nose gave her silhouette a sharp strength. Lines around the edges of her eyes and mouth marked years of care for the kingdom, but her face still held a youthful light.

Amelia’s fists clenched around the basket so hard she could feel the fibers of the wicker digging clefts into her skin. She was terrified if she let go of the basket she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from running her fingers along the queen’s cheekbone and up to the curve of her ear.

I want to feel my fingers in your passage, she thought.

“I’ll make sure you’re serving at the Gathering then, pretty one,” the queen said. Chuckling softly to herself, the queen turned away and glided down the hallway, maids and butlers dodging out of her way like an oncoming avalanche.

“Holy fuck, did I say that aloud?” Amelia whispered to Lola, the blood draining from her face.

Lola’s laugh was loud and deep like a warrior cry. “Don’t worry about it, new girl, Cas has that effect on everybody.”

“But Eliot—”

“She’ll invite him. How he handles himself once he’s here is up to him, but ‘body like a miracle’ is a pretty good recommendation,” Lola’s violet eyes pinned Amelia for a second, her gaze serious for once. “Just make sure he shows up. The queen doesn’t like to see her invitations ignored.”

Amelia’s eyes followed the queen’s bright green train as it disappeared around the corner. The layers of fabric couldn’t disguise the perfectly round ass swaying slightly on her perilous heels.

I wish…

Amelia turned back to Lola and said with the seriousness of a sermon, “I’ll make sure he shows.”

Eliot re-read the gilded invitation for what must have been the fifteenth time. On an intellectual level, he understood the meaning of each word, both individually—and as they were strung together—he still couldn’t truly comprehend what was written. In shaking fingers, he clasped the object of every Crispin man and woman’s deepest desires and most honest fantasies.

“Your presence has been requested at the Queen’s Gathering.”

The simple phrase spelled out in raised silver script on the gold-plated—real gold—invitation sent Eliot’s pulse racing. He paced back and forth in the foyer as he contemplated his options. He had been invited once to a small town neighborhood Gathering and his brothers’ boots guaranteed he didn’t attend. Now he was expected to go to the Queen’s Gathering? It was unthinkable. Unimaginable. Inconceivable.

Eliot dug through the day’s mail once again, hoping against all odds to find invitations for his brothers buried in the mess. They would be livid if Eliot was the only one invited. He shuddered at the thought of what punishment they'd devise if they ever found out.

He paced from the door to the kitchen. The Queen has requested my presence. I have to go.

He paced from the kitchen back to the door. My brothers will never forgive me.

He paced from the door to the back garden, ready to throw the invitation onto a pile of burning leaves. His hand nearly made it to the fire.

The Queen’s Gathering is everything I’ve ever dreamed of.

He paced back to the house, throwing open the door to the servants’ quarters, the broken chairs from Amelia’s last day still scattered around. I will embarrass myself in front of everyone. Amelia was special and forgiving. The other guests will be disgusted by my large cock.

It was an impossible decision. Refusing a royal request felt treasonous, but going to a Gathering without his brothers felt disloyal. He walked back outside and sank into a wicker chair on the porch, taking comfort in the familiar groaning sound it let out as it accepted his weight.

The garden needed work he didn’t have time to do. The roses were overgrown and the small fountain of swans making love was covered with a creeping green mold. The old lilac bush in the middle of the garden, surviving inexplicably well on its own, reminded him of a happier, pre-orphaned childhood. After his parents’ death, Eliot’s older brothers fed him, clothed him, and kept a roof over his head. How can I even think of betraying them?

Eliot slouched over, resting his elbows on his knees and taking his face between his hands, rubbing the slight stubble outlining his jaw.

“Hey there. I thought you could use a friend,” a familiar voice chirped. He looked up and felt a wide grin bloom across his face. The afternoon sun silhouetted her lithe curves, hiding her face in shadow. Her melodic laugh danced around him, and she stepped onto the porch to reveal her much-missed face.

Amelia looked great in the palace staff uniform. Palace life definitely seemed to agree with her. Eliot’s eyes took in every sweet inch of her: her black leather corset proudly displayed her perfectly-rounded breasts, the playful skirt fluffy enough to be whimsical, but short enough to send a person’s head reeling. And the lacy garters. Eliot always did have a thing for garters.

He took a moment to collect himself before standing up to greet her, hugging her tight and loving the feeling of her silken corset against his chest. He struggled to speak as the blood rushed away from his brain.

Amelia giggled at his gaping expression. “A little bird told me you got an important message today.” Her eyes moved to the invitation sitting on the floor beneath his chair. “The queen—may-she-cum-long-and-hard—wants you to come, Eliot. To her Gathering, I mean,” she finished, sounding flustered.

Eliot’s excitement soured. His head drooped and he ran a hand through his long brown hair. “My brothers will never allow it. You know them. They weren’t invited. Besides”—he shifted uncomfortably—“I’ll probably just make a fool out of myself.”

Amelia grabbed Eliot's hand and dragged him into the house. “It’s past noon, so I assume your brothers are down at the pub, right?” She raised an eyebrow and gently ran her nimble fingers down Eliot’s chest. “Is it just you and me?”

Eliot felt his pants tighten at her touch and a bead of nervous sweat ran down his face. She was astonishingly good at winding him up.

He loved every second of it.

Eliot pulled her close, the intoxicating smell of her washing over him like the catharsis of a holiday. What I wouldn't give to hold onto that smell all year.

He held her face in one hand, clasping the small of her back with the other as he kissed her with everything he had.

Amelia met him with equal force, tongue thrusting between Eliot’s open lips, exploring the contours of his mouth. When his lungs began to scream for air, she pulled back, locking her eyes with his.

She ran her fingers through his hair and pulled his head forward, licking at the sensitive tissue behind his ear, running her wet tongue down his neck to his collarbone. Amelia kissed her way down his torso, unbuttoning his shirt with her skilled fingers as she went. A small nip to his navel made his eyes roll into the back of his head with want and she pulled his stiff length from his trousers, grinning.

“Hello again.” She chuckled, looking up at Eliot. She was now on her knees before him and began stroking and licking him, pleasuring each enviable inch. She pulled his pants down and ran her nails up and down his thighs, leaving light marks that would take days to fade. She kissed his shaft, his testicles, his legs, but would go no further.

He resisted the urge to thrust into her, claiming her mouth.

“You know, I work at the palace now.” She took him in her hand and licked him from base to head. “Everything I do is meant to serve our queen.” Amelia guided his member towards her lips and she swirled her tongue around the very tip of his great length. “If only there was some way I could convince you to honor our queen by coming to her Gathering.” She looked up at him with a wicked grin, and then took him into her mouth.

Shit, that feels so good. Eliot couldn’t help but let out a wild groan as she worked on him. He was so worked up from her teasing that every touch, every inch of contact felt like lightning. She looked up at him again and he nearly came on the spot; her eyes gleamed, she was so joyful when pleasuring him.

Breathing heavily, he reached down and freed one of her breasts from her corset, smiling at how hard her nipple felt. She gasped around his dick as he began to massage and roll her smooth flesh. He was too big for her to take him fully in her mouth, but her hands played with the base of his shaft in tight strokes. Her hands, her tongue, her mouth—it was too much to take. Eliot let out a roar as he came hard, spilling his seed into Amelia's tight mouth, grasping her breast like a life raft.

“You’re amazing,” Eliot let out in a breathless rumble.

Amelia smiled as Eliot helped her to her feet. “You're not too bad yourself, which is why we need you at the Gathering.” She pulled out a simple black mask. “I brought this for you. We need to find you something to wear because this”—she made a gesture with her hands that encompassed Eliot’s modest form-fitting trousers and ragged shirt—“is not going to cut it for royalty.”

Eliot pulled her close, capturing her soft, pink lips with his mouth. He leaned his forehead into hers, breathing in her intoxicating scent. He still wasn’t sure his enormous dick would be acceptable at the Gathering, but he didn’t want to disappoint Amelia. He took a deep breath and gave into the inevitable.

“What do you have in mind?”

Amelia giggled, pulling Eliot by the hand as she led him through the house, bringing them both to Artie’s bedroom.

“No, no, absolutely not,” Eliot began to protest. Artie will fucking kill us both.

Amelia put a hand over Eliot’s mouth. “Have you no loyalty to your Queen, sir?” She giggled through her mock outrage. “Showing up in anything but the best attire you can...acquire”—she gave him a quick wink—“would be downright disrespectful.”

Without waiting for Eliot’s reply, Amelia skipped into Artie’s bedroom. It was so meticulous and impersonal, the room almost looked unoccupied. The stark wooden bed was made with tight, perfect corners, the goose-filled pillows at the top in precise ninety-degree alignment. Even his remedial sewing kits for mending his Gathering costumes (which he would make Eliot do) were lined up with obsessive-level care, each needle placed exactly one inch apart. The walls were freshly-painted white on white with no additional art to distract from Artie’s perfectly-controlled space. It’s going to be impossible to go through Artie’s things without him noticing.

Eliot tried to suppress an anguished cry as Amelia started going through Artie’s closet, flinging bits of leather and rubber indiscriminately over her shoulder as she rummaged through his meticulously-organized piles. They landed in haphazard heaps all over the room, knocking over a line of matching high-heeled red leather knee-length boots with glitter on the toes. They fell over like dominoes and Eliot felt each red-heel topple like anticipated blows.

“Ah ha!” Amelia exclaimed, holding up a huge black leather codpiece. She chuckled slightly as she removed bits of cloth stuffing from the inside. “I don't know who your brother was trying to fool with all this padding. But it might actually be big enough to fit you.” She looked back and forth between his loins and the inside of the codpiece, forming and fitting the inside to more closely match his physique.

This is actually happening! Eliot grinned wildly as he realized how close he was to getting everything he’d ever dreamt of. He undressed and slid his length into the codpiece. It fit so perfectly it felt like a second skin. Even as he took off the rest of his clothes and adjusted the codpiece and mask, he still hesitated.

“Is this really happening? It feels so impossible,” he said, looking into her blue eyes for any sign of doubt.

The perfect curve in her lip held enough confidence for both of them. “Oh, it’s possible."

Queen Cassandra dodged out of the way of a gyrating ass and reminded herself—for the fifth time since the Gathering started—to feel proud of rather than bored with what she’d accomplished. The main play room was packed without feeling crowded. Colored bracelets had been fully adopted as an unspoken code helping to pair strangers together based on their preferences: submissive or dominant, top or bottom, seeking male, female, or either. Consent still needed to be spoken, but the shorthand helped compatible pairs find each other quickly. With the Gathering now open to anyone with the required skills, the pairings were spreading across the social classes, breaking down the privileged hierarchies. Floating around the rainbow-hued crowd were the few couples wearing the gold bracelets marking them as lovers-for-life. These committed pairings or groups came to the Gatherings to watch and learn from others, enjoying their public discourse only with each other.

Cassandra had so much to appreciate, and yet…

Why does it always feel like more of the same?

A woman in a horse costume was happily mounting another woman dressed as a provocative fox, while a man and woman next to them in total-body leather moved together in what looked like a pre-coordinated dance of twisting limbs. A man manacled to the wall groaned while a woman wearing narrow straps of fabric straddled him and pleasured him with a toothbrush.

They get more creative every year. At least that Cassandra felt unmitigated pride about.

The room’s energy swelled with the live band: alternating slow grinding tunes and fast thumping beats had everyone in the room moving to their rhythm. The lead guitarist and singer had adapted a classic folk tune about a mysterious unnamed woman who exchanged the promise of first-born children for the skill of teaching hapless virgin farmer lads how to spin their limp “straws” into hard gold. The lyrics were appropriately lewd for the setting and Cassandra added a gold coin into the band’s overflowing tip jar in appreciation. Cassandra made a mental note to also blow the drummer later; he was doing a masterful job keeping the song moving, and the bulge in his tights hinted he was worthy of royal attention.

Cassandra made the rounds of the room slowly, nodding to those who caught her eye, but moving on before the nod could be interpreted as an invitation. The sounds of sex permeated the walls, building to a thumping, grinding crescendo as the hours continued.

She was halfway across the main playroom when a ripple of energy spread throughout the Gathering. Everyone in the room seemed to up their game all at once; the groans getting louder and the slapping of flesh against flesh becoming more passionate.

It was hard to pinpoint where the new energy started, but years of evaluating the mood of a room drew Cassandra to an alcove near the Gathering’s entrance. She stepped around a naked woman riding a man wearing crisscrossed lotion-filled pockets, and a fully naked couple so engrossed in their mutual blow jobs they didn’t notice the queen’s gold and black-crowned stiletto heel inches from their thrusting hips.

The signs of a half-torn curtain falling off the entrance showed the newcomer must have been immediately identified as high potential and dragged into the side room the second he walked in the door.

The screams of pleasure emanating from the man and woman fucking hard in the alcove were so intoxicating they energized all of the couples within earshot. Cassandra followed the sounds until she found the source: a masked couple in a small alcove near the front of the hall. She leaned against the doorframe, running a hand slowly up and down her own exposed flesh, completely entranced by what she saw.

Out of the corner of her eye, Cassandra could see the party gradually migrating closer to the front alcove, every couple in the room inexplicably drawn to the incredible sexual energy pouring out from this fucking couple. Even the band at the other end of the room was playing better, their music jiving in an inexplicable new cohesiveness. The drummer deserved a good three-way at this point.

Cassandra didn’t know the man in the black mask, but she recognized the woman immediately: Lola, one of her inner circle of guards. Lola lay on her back, her legs wrapped high around the strange man’s shoulders so her ankles crisscrossed behind his neck and her hips gyrated high in the air. Her mass of black braids pillowed her head, and her violet eyes were wide and luminous. Her mouth was already a wide “o” and Cassandra recognized the signs Lola was about to cum, and cum hard.

The strange man must have recognized the signs too and as Cassandra watched, he picked up the pace, grabbing Lola’s hips and thrusting in with long, hard strokes. His enormous dick was nearly out of Lola’s sheath before he slammed it back into her.

Nice. Cassandra licked her lips. The man’s simple black mask covered most of his face, but didn’t disguise his full, red lips or the strong line of his cheekbones. He was naked except for an enormous black leather codpiece barely holding onto a strap around his thigh, as if Lola had nearly torn it off to get at his enormous member.

Good work, Lola, Cassandra thought, nudging the impressive codpiece with the tip of her shoe. It was clearly custom-made work specifically designed for his impressive size. She took a look at the impression from his dick on the inside. Whoa.

Whoever the well-hung man was, he was masterful in the sack as well. In all her years hosting the Gathering, Cassandra had never seen such a blend of sensitivity to a lover’s moods, and pure fucking masculinity.

And she wasn’t the only one to notice. A line of women stood leaning against the wall, rubbing their and their neighbor’s clits as they watched and gasped in time to Lola’s panting. One couple positioned themselves next to Lola and the stranger on the floor, trying to mimic their movements, but looking like a poor imitation in comparison.

Lola was seconds from orgasm, but the stranger was still going strong. Cassandra walked around the circumference of the room until she stood behind Lola’s head and could see the stranger’s face. Through his mask, she could see his bright blue eyes.

His rhythm hiccupped for a second as their eyes met, a brief hesitation in his thrust. Then he thrust harder. His eyes never left Cassandra’s face, his eyes locked on hers, but he somehow found the strength to bang Lola even deeper, once, twice, until Lola’s head fell back in a scream of utmost pleasure.

Cassandra waited for him to complete, but he pulled out, his member enormous and purple, glistening with cum. He stood up and his codpiece slid off his thigh so he was naked except for the black mask. Four women from around the room moved toward him, but his eyes never strayed from Cassandra’s face.

“Lady,” he said, his voice low and smoky, “If you want me, I am yours.”

Cassandra stepped forward and took his hand.

“Stranger, you are coming with me.”

His hand felt satisfyingly enormous in Cassandra’s palm. His firm grip impressed her; too many of her lovers either tried to squeeze too hard to prove they weren’t intimidated by her, or made their hand limp to show they knew their subordinate position. From the way this stranger’s eyes passed over the small crown pattern in her shoes without a hitch, it was almost as if he had no idea who she was at all.

And isn’t that the most exciting thing of all? Cassandra felt an authentic smile of pleasure growing across her face.

“If you’re taking Mr. Hung away, I get the drummer,” panted Lola from the floor. She was still laying on her back, her legs splayed out under her and arms outspread, so thoroughly pleasured she looked like she was never going to move again.

Cassandra felt her grin widening to show teeth. “It’s the Gathering, my friend. You’re welcome to anyone who consents.”

Lola twisted on the floor so she could look directly into Cassandra’s brown eyes. Lola’s purple irises flashed and her mouth twisted into a sarcastic, Yeah, right.

Cassandra couldn’t help it; she laughed. “Yes, of course you’re correct. I promise not to be competition for the drummer. We won’t make the poor dear choose between…” the queen and a lowly guard, she thought as she glanced at the big-cocked stranger who—to all appearances—had no idea who she was. “The two of us,” she finished.

Lola nodded, satisfied, and promptly fell asleep, snoring lightly. Cassandra looked at her masked stranger, her meticulously-plucked eyebrow rising past the level of “mildly impressed,” and up to the high arc of “hot damn.”

“You screwed Lola into unconsciousness?” Cassandra said, her voice an octave higher than normal. “Lola once banged the entire squad in one night when she got the itch, and was still up doing yoga at dawn. You exhausted her in under an hour?”

The man grinned a little under his mask and shrugged. “Lady, if my skills tonight have caused you pleasure, then I'm happy I came.”

Cassandra patted his arm and tightened her grip on his hand. “Darling, you haven’t cum nearly enough yet.”

She ignored the stares following them through the main room. Pairs stopped in the middle of the action to watch her, some openly beckoning her to join them, others simply staring at her with longing. A man in a tight unitard bunny costume about to be speared from behind by a woman wearing a strap-on and a unicorn outfit was so startled to see the queen he fell over and face-planted straight into the ass crack of the man next to him. The neighbor was so happily lapping at the pussy of the joyfully full-bodied woman beneath him, he didn’t even break rhythm.

“Does that happen often?” the masked stranger asked.

Cassandra nodded toward the unicorn busily rearranging her arrant bunny so his bare ass was once more ready for her penetration. The unicorn-woman nodded back and rammed him so hard the man’s bellow of “Yes, fuck!” rattled the chandelier.

“Accidents happen sometimes, of course—it’s bound to with so many revelers in such a small place.” Cassandra gestured to two couples making love so close together they had to alternate the directions of their thrusts in order to not ram into each other. “But everyone who received an invitation here was vetted based on their skills, and—except in rare occasions—have years of experience at similar Gatherings among the lower nobility ranks. They know how to handle themselves, and there is security to take care of those who get too enthusiastic.” She nodded to the pair of guards standing at attention by the wall.

The guard on the left, Tom, was an enormous dark-skinned brute covered in tattoos with a fantastic gift for poetry. As one of her personal guards, he was often invited to the Gathering when he wasn't signed up for guard duty or helping to train the new recruits. With the smallest flick of a finger, he indicated the alcove opposite as the safest for Cassandra to take her playmate.

She pulled her new friend into the alcove, a small room hung with layers of red, purple, and dark green silks drooping so low they effectively cut the space into smaller intimate spaces hidden from the rest of the room.

“I understand about the accidents,” her handsome stranger said as he pulled aside a red silk hanging and settled on the lush carpet, leaning against one of the fluffy cushions scattered across the floor. Cassandra knelt beside him, spreading out her skirts so they pooled invitingly around her thighs. “What I meant was: does it happen often enough that the entire room stops to watch someone walk through?”

Cassandra felt her breath hitch. He knew. Any second he was going to put one-and-one together, realize she was the queen, and then he’d apologize for not addressing her as your majesty and act weird…

“Am I wearing the wrong thing?” He blushed. He actually blushed! Cassandra decided she could love this man. “Or is the bigness of my cock? A friend helped me get dressed, but I’ve never been to one of these parties and I wasn’t sure if this mask was right, and I lost my codpiece back in the other room and—”

Cassandra stopped his rambling with a passionate kiss, biting on his lower lip until he melted under her. His arms snaked around her body to run shivers along her side, his fingers deftly finding the ribbons of her corset and pulling them apart so the fabric could slide over her hips. He pulled off each layer of her clothing while his hands seemed to be everywhere at once: squeezing her ass while tweaking her nipple, while cupping her mound, while flicking her clit with just enough pressure to make her squirm.

As soon as she was completely naked, she straddled him on the floor, the pillow beneath his head and neck bringing him up at an angle where she could easily run her hands along his rippling abs.

His fingers worshiped her body, skimming the soft skin along her waist and massaging the tight muscles of her lower back. She purred against his mouth, arching her back so her hard nipples rubbed against his bare skin.

She couldn’t resist touching his chest and stomach. His muscles were hard and unforgiving, the kind of tight rows built from hours of hard labor. She felt herself becoming wet at the thought. This was a man who didn’t just exercise enough to be enticing at the next Gathering; this was a man who worked hard. Her fingers traced the curves of his muscles, dipping into the enticing pool of his belly button.

His tongue invaded her mouth with forceful heat, making the wetness between her thighs a pulsing beat. He groaned as her questing fingers found his enlarged cock, slick with precum. Oh right, he didn’t cum for Lola, she remembered.

“Poor darling,” she moaned into his mouth. “We need to take care of you.”

He couldn’t articulate a response, just moved his hands so his fingers rubbed at her clit. She let out a pleased gasp.

The man has to be some reborn sex god of the ancients. The pressure he applied on her clit was perfect, just enough friction to make her insides feel like they were about to boil and explode, but not enough to be painful.

Her hips jerked beneath him, her breasts bouncing against the warm skin of his chest adding little jets of pleasure down to her pussy. Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, he inserted two of his fingers at once deep into her core, thrusting hard and running them along the side of her walls.

“Holy crap!” she cried, looking down at the glorious sight of his fingers playing at her core. His enormous mast jumped at her gaze and she felt her hips instinctively lean toward his cock, her body silently begging to be filled.

His eyes carefully watched her face as his nimble fingers twisted and pumped inside her. Her breath hitched and she closed her eyes in ecstasy as his fingers found her elusive g-spot. A smile growing across his face, he pounded hard at the spot with his two fingers pressed close together, alternating with those perfect rubs against her throbbing clit. He leaned forward so his mouth circled her nipple. He moaned around her breast.

“You’re the most gorgeous, dirty goddess I’ve ever seen,” he said, then gently bit her hardened bud.

It was what she needed to get over the edge, screaming and clawing at his chest as waves of pleasure blasted from her pussy up through her entire body.

Just when she thought might be coming down, he grabbed her hips and pulled her down onto his shaft so she was facing him, his enormous cock plunging so deep she could feel his balls pressed up against her ass. He thrust into her hard, using the pillow behind him as leverage to pull her down onto him as he thrust up into her.

For a few thrusts, Cassandra rode the waves of his bucking hips like a mariner desperately clinging to the last life raft, but when she found her breath, she leaned back to grab his thighs and drove into him hard.

She didn’t think she had another orgasm in her, but when she saw his face contort and his balls tighten beneath her, she could feel her pussy clench around his thick dick and the ecstasy ripped through her once more. His hot cum pounded in her and she felt the warmth of inner peace for the first time she could remember.

This one is a keeper.

When the swish of silk announced the arrival of another couple into the curtain-draped alcove, Amelia started to call out to warn them she was there, cleaning up the back buffet table. Then a red swath of fabric rippled and there they were: her majesty, the intensely magnificent Queen Cassandra, and too-lickable, impossibly-hung Eliot.

That’s my boy, Amelia thought with a smile, at the Gathering for less than an hour and already banging the most amazing woman in the universe.

A sinking weight pulled at her heart. She was happy for them, but she didn’t know what made her more envious: that the queen was touching those curved muscles instead of her, or that Eliot was putting the queen’s pert nipples in his mouth instead of her.

Amelia turned away from the luscious sight, forcing herself to concentrate on her task. Without making a sound, she carried the empty platters to the dumbwaiter hidden behind a panel in the back of the room. She tried to ignore the sounds the queen and Eliot were making behind her, the slap of flesh and flesh accompanied by their moans of pleasure.

Amelia could feel herself growing wet, her imagination conjuring what they must look like together. Was the queen on all fours with Eliot pounding behind her? Or was he arched above her, thrusting deep as the queen locked her legs high behind his ears?