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Authors: Giselle Renarde
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possessed the uncanny ability to speak. Svana
had found this quality rather unsettling at the start, but now took
comfort in the horse's low rumbling tones and higher, lilting
whinnies. As Rosamunda went on ahead, Svana confessed her
apprehensions as well as her exhilaration to the mare, and in
speaking the words felt much more at peace in her journey.
After riding Falada, the speaking mare, for
some distance, Svana began to feel a delicious sensation between
her legs. The rhythmic bouncing pressure against her lower lips
generated an undeniably pleasant heat at the apex of her thighs.
This was by far her favorite part of riding, this beautiful wet
burn. In time, she could no longer bear the suspended bliss of it
and, bringing Falada to a halt in the center of a vast field, Svana
surprised her waiting-maid with a request:
"Oh, my dearest Rosamunda, riding this way
has my precious cavern flowing with love nectar. I feel I would die
without immediate gratification. I beg you, dismount, and take a
drink from my cup."
"You have got to be
kidding me," Rosamunda replied, halting her ride as well. "First of
all, precious cavern? Love nectar? Who the hell talks like that, Miss Priss? If
you're horny, you can bloody well get yourself off. I don't choose
to be your servant."
Svana was not surprised by her maid's harsh
words. They had grown accustomed to one another's ways, even in
this short time together. So, in her great thirst, the princess
laid her head down on Falada’s great rump. After pulling her skirt
tails up well over her waist, Svana tapped with one finger at her
engorged lower lips. So sensitive were they from the riding that
even the slightest pressure sent waves of pleasure throughout her
body.
The wetness between her thighs was hardly a
shock, for Svana's pussy was extremely responsive. She was every
bit as likely to appreciate a codpiece askew as she was to behold
the great tumbling cleavage of a peasant woman. Bodies delighted
her eyes, and as she observed the puffy white clouds against the
bright blue sky, she reflected upon such bawdy sights as those.
Rubbing her fingers against the juicy folds
of her craving cunt, Svana panted and moaned. Her ample breasts
jumped as she fingered herself, her stiff nipples popping out from
under her corset. Her nipples were nearly as dark as the red of her
bodice, though her flesh was nowhere near as gold as the precious
thread woven through. Stroking the waters of her swollen pussy, the
princess abandoned herself to the immensity of her personal
pleasure. She rubbed faster and faster, her big breasts bouncing,
until the pleasure was so vast she had to squeeze her eyes shut
just to stay sane. Gritting her teeth, Svana yelped like a pup as
every fiber of her being jumped for joy.
Oh, her thirst was slaked, but how her hand
ached. Perhaps she was developing carpel tunnel syndrome. Or
repetitive stress disorder.
When the princess regained her composure,
she sat upright on Falada's back only to realize how sopping wet
her underskirts had become. It was nothing if not a pleasant
reminder of the day's self-induced gratification. As she arranged
her freed breasts back into her corset, Svana was overcome with a
sudden realization that quickly evolved into panic: what had become
of the bloodstained handkerchief her birth mother had given her?
She'd pressed it between her breasts before they'd taken leave of
the castle, and now it was nowhere to be found.
"Ah, heaven," the princess cried, hopping
from her horse to explore her surroundings.
Falada nuzzled the distraught girl, then
cocked her head to indicate where the hanky had fallen. As Svana
breathed a relieved sigh and bent to pick it up, the talking mare
stated,
"If this your mother knew,
Her heart would break in two."
"What does that mean?"
Svana shoved the square of fabric safely between her breasts.
"If what my
mother knew?"
The speaking mare only whinnied. Svana
mounted her horse. Where had her maid-in-waiting gone? The
had found this quality rather unsettling at the start, but now took
comfort in the horse's low rumbling tones and higher, lilting
whinnies. As Rosamunda went on ahead, Svana confessed her
apprehensions as well as her exhilaration to the mare, and in
speaking the words felt much more at peace in her journey.
After riding Falada, the speaking mare, for
some distance, Svana began to feel a delicious sensation between
her legs. The rhythmic bouncing pressure against her lower lips
generated an undeniably pleasant heat at the apex of her thighs.
This was by far her favorite part of riding, this beautiful wet
burn. In time, she could no longer bear the suspended bliss of it
and, bringing Falada to a halt in the center of a vast field, Svana
surprised her waiting-maid with a request:
"Oh, my dearest Rosamunda, riding this way
has my precious cavern flowing with love nectar. I feel I would die
without immediate gratification. I beg you, dismount, and take a
drink from my cup."
"You have got to be
kidding me," Rosamunda replied, halting her ride as well. "First of
all, precious cavern? Love nectar? Who the hell talks like that, Miss Priss? If
you're horny, you can bloody well get yourself off. I don't choose
to be your servant."
Svana was not surprised by her maid's harsh
words. They had grown accustomed to one another's ways, even in
this short time together. So, in her great thirst, the princess
laid her head down on Falada’s great rump. After pulling her skirt
tails up well over her waist, Svana tapped with one finger at her
engorged lower lips. So sensitive were they from the riding that
even the slightest pressure sent waves of pleasure throughout her
body.
The wetness between her thighs was hardly a
shock, for Svana's pussy was extremely responsive. She was every
bit as likely to appreciate a codpiece askew as she was to behold
the great tumbling cleavage of a peasant woman. Bodies delighted
her eyes, and as she observed the puffy white clouds against the
bright blue sky, she reflected upon such bawdy sights as those.
Rubbing her fingers against the juicy folds
of her craving cunt, Svana panted and moaned. Her ample breasts
jumped as she fingered herself, her stiff nipples popping out from
under her corset. Her nipples were nearly as dark as the red of her
bodice, though her flesh was nowhere near as gold as the precious
thread woven through. Stroking the waters of her swollen pussy, the
princess abandoned herself to the immensity of her personal
pleasure. She rubbed faster and faster, her big breasts bouncing,
until the pleasure was so vast she had to squeeze her eyes shut
just to stay sane. Gritting her teeth, Svana yelped like a pup as
every fiber of her being jumped for joy.
Oh, her thirst was slaked, but how her hand
ached. Perhaps she was developing carpel tunnel syndrome. Or
repetitive stress disorder.
When the princess regained her composure,
she sat upright on Falada's back only to realize how sopping wet
her underskirts had become. It was nothing if not a pleasant
reminder of the day's self-induced gratification. As she arranged
her freed breasts back into her corset, Svana was overcome with a
sudden realization that quickly evolved into panic: what had become
of the bloodstained handkerchief her birth mother had given her?
She'd pressed it between her breasts before they'd taken leave of
the castle, and now it was nowhere to be found.
"Ah, heaven," the princess cried, hopping
from her horse to explore her surroundings.
Falada nuzzled the distraught girl, then
cocked her head to indicate where the hanky had fallen. As Svana
breathed a relieved sigh and bent to pick it up, the talking mare
stated,
"If this your mother knew,
Her heart would break in two."
"What does that mean?"
Svana shoved the square of fabric safely between her breasts.
"If what my
mother knew?"
The speaking mare only whinnied. Svana
mounted her horse. Where had her maid-in-waiting gone? The
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