The Three Princesses Read Free Page A

your ax. I could say that I am merely cruel, and delight in toying with you, in making you dance to my command. I could say that I am bored, and wish to pass the night in the company of another, to drown my memories for but a night. All true.
    "Second, who am I? I am Circe, the goddess of the Woods, the queen of the Ocean, immortal and beloved by heroes and immortals alike. I am the daughter of Helios and Perse, and have seen more sunrises and deaths and births than even my memory can recall. I am Circe, and none can refuse my will, none can resist my desire.
    "Finally, what is it I want?" Her smile grew wicked, and the Woodsman felt trapped by the gleam in her eyes, the decadent desire, the hunger and carnality that burned forth from her. She reached out and grabbed his cock, feeling for it through his pants with a surety born of endless lifetimes of experiences, and he found himself growing immediately hard and erect so that he strained against his pants almost painfully. "What is it I want?" Her voice lowered to a whisper. "I want you, every which way, in every way. I want you inside me; I want to ride you, to see how far you can go before you break, before you fail." She stepped closer, and began to massage the Woodsman's cock, moving her hand in subtle gyrations against his pants, running her palm up and down the length of his shaft. All the while she looked up at him, deep into his eyes. "I have watched you. Swinging that ax, sweat running down your back. Heard you grunt as you buried the blade in each trunk, seen your muscles bulge as you pulled your ax free. I've seen you strain to lift giant branches, watched you sleep in the tall grass, your chest rising and falling, your eyes closed, your mind adrift on the tides of sleep."
    The Woodsman could barely breathe. He looked down at Circe, into her eyes, and still she massaged his cock, her touch growing frustratingly light, teasing and torturing him, her fingers deft even through the weave of fabric. His mind spun, and he tried to focus, to think.
    "And yet," said Circe, ever so slightly sticking out her lip as if put out. "And yet never have I seen you pleasure yourself as solitary men are wont to do. Not even as your son slept did you ever slip away into the bushes to gasp and work your cock, eyes closed as you thought of some other woman's breasts or hot wet cunt. Never. Not once, in all these years. Can you imagine my curiosity?" Her eyes were burning bright, and a faint flush had brushed her smooth cheeks. "What kind of man, so virile and strong, restrains himself so perfectly? For whom does he save himself, if he lives all alone with his son?"
    Her hand grew more firm on his cock, and the Woodsman found himself yearning for her to slip it under his pants, to feel her cool touch against his throbbing hardness, her palm on his shaft, to feel the sweet friction as she wrapped her delicate fingers about his cock and worked him harder. He fought a groan, fought for mastery, and all he could do was stand there and shiver with the effort.
    Circe moved closer, and now she was so close that her breasts were nearly touching his sternum, and he could smell her, smell her long hair. It was a delicious scent, the smell of the woods and the sun, and more, secret perfumes that were as subtle as they were fragrant, akin to a field of flowers, delirious and perfect and enough to make you wish to close your eyes and breathe deep, were he not riveted by her gaze.
    "Who is she?" Circe's voice was but a whisper now and her touch more demanding. "For whom do you save yourself with such passionate discipline?"
    "My wife," groaned the Woodsman.
    "Your wife?" Circe paused in her ministrations. "And where is she?"
    "She died," whispered the Woodsman. "Long ago."
    Circe blinked, and then her smile returned, curling with delight. She narrowed her eyes and resumed rubbing his shaft, moving her hand over the bump of his engorged head and then back down low to the base. "Dead, is she? Then you