Message-ID: <56293asstr$1184850602@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com X-OB-Received: from unknown (205.158.62.133) by wfilter.us4.outblaze.com; 19 Jul 2007 03:20:20 -0000 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit From: "Rex Antioch" <v10la@operamail.com> X-Originating-Server: ws5-3.us4.outblaze.com X-Original-Message-ID: <20070719032020.4BB142478D@ws5-3.us4.outblaze.com> X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Thu, 19 Jul 2007 11:20:20 +0800 Subject: {ASSM} The Other Side of Narnia Ch.12 {Rex Antioch} (humour furry spoof) Lines: 1179 Date: Thu, 19 Jul 2007 09:10:02 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2007/56293> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: RuiJorge, dennyw -- _______________________________________________ Surf the Web in a faster, safer and easier way: Download Opera 9 at http://www.opera.com Powered by Outblaze <1st attachment, "Chapter 12.doc" begin> (Author's note: 'The Other Side of Narnia' is intended to be a novel-length spoof and sex fantasy based on C.S. Lewis' famous children's books 'The Chronicles of Narnia' which I began a while ago. Chapters 1 11 are now archived under my non-de-plume Rex Antioch (look under R for Rex) at www.asstr-mirror.org as a 231k zipped file. To the many fans who wrote to tell me of their enjoyment of the story so far and encouraged me to write more, thank you. I apologise for the delay. The opportunity has arisen for me to pick up my pen again so here's some more with more to follow. If you haven't read the beginning or the original books/seen Andrew Adamson's film there's probably not much point in starting here.) Chapter 12 It was said that whoever ruled in Cair Paravel ruled all Narnia. Why it was said and why it should be true because it was said were questions never asked even by those who said it. It was even patently not true because during the reign of King Lamman his brother Jesuel who had gone over to the White Witch and was consequently getting vastly better sex than the King who was having to make do with a talking and often whinging sheep, laid a four-year siege to Cair Paravel which limited King Lamman's rule merely to the castle on its little peninsula. However in Narnia, as in Churches, Parliaments, Military Councils and Schools throughout Lucy's home world, an inconvenient fact was not allowed to get in the way of what people thought so it was still said that whoever ruled in Cair Paravel ruled all Narnia. Thus in the absence of her sister and two brothers from Cair Paravel, Little Queen Lucy found herself sole and absolute ruler of all Narnia. She did not like it. When she sat down and tried to look calm, confident and regal she knew she was fooling no-one and wanted to be up and moving again, but when she was moving purposelessly around the great, empty castle she became only more aware of its greatness and emptiness, and of her littleness and defencelessness within it, which only made her want to sit down somewhere again, preferably with a lot of creatures around her. And sitting or walking, she had to be Ruler of all Narnia. A constant stream of supplicants presented petitions she had to resolve. The talking-bear Chatelaine at Kingsbridge Palace sent to ask if Her Little Majesty wished to have the High Queen her sister's luggage sent on to Glasswater, held at Kingsbridge, sent back to Cair Paravel or otherwise disposed of, presumably hinting that if Lucy thought one Queen was enough for anyone and wished her fellow queen's memory erased Kingsbridge would be quite happy to go along with it. Every single filly Centaur had vanished from the stables without a word and someone had to be found to find someone to take care of eighty-two non-talking horses, sixteen ponies, forty-seven mules and twelve donkeys. Two talking rabbit scullions had been caught fighting, one claiming that Queen Susan had already been killed, cooked and eaten or some permutation of the three, the other claiming that Queen Susan would be able to shag any number of trolls to death and would be home by Thursday. One had lost three teeth and the other an eye in the fight and Lucy had decide whether one, both or neither should be hanged or merely flogged and whether she wanted to attend the ceremony beforehand at which the eye and teeth would be exchanged as required by the Law Exodus 21, v.23-26, she was reminded. And would Her Majesty prefer poached fish or lightly-roasted duck (non-talking) for her tea? Through it all the only friendly face she saw was that of her Secretary Mr. Tumnus although even he was not able to hide his worry, and as she was very well aware that there were a great many things she did not know because nobody wanted to worry her with them but which he probably did know it was all the more worrying for that. Even Lucy was aware that if Peter and Edmund didn't come back, which seemed quite possible, she would become Narnia's only king or queen left to face what some were already whispering might be the first move by a newly-re-risen White Witch to regain her throne. Dribs and drabs of the Army began to trickle back into Cair Paravel as fairymail worked its way through the system and the dwarf left in charge by Bellerix sent to ask whether they should be sent out again after King Peter and his little army - where they might just arrive in the nick of time to win a lost battle and save Susan but also had every chance of being cut to pieces in the field on the way there if High Queen Susan's kidnapping had been a stratagem to bring about exactly what the High King had done and disperse his army - or to man the walls of Cair Paravel where they weren't anything like enough to do any good. Overhead the long banners on the peaks of the castle's turrets flapped bravely in the breeze as the day wore on and the tendrils of worry and fright churned and flapped in Lucy's stomach as no news came. In the evening after tea at which she had been unable to stomach the fish anyway she sat for a while at a window in a high turret looking out at the sun setting in the west and refused all requests for an audience, watching the road across the causeway to the mainland down which any message would come. Finally, as though her wishing had made it happen, a colt Centaur too young to be a warrior but acting as a messenger for Peter's army, galloped hard onto the causeway from the North Road and chased his long shadow along the narrow neck of land with the sea either side to disappear between the castle gates beneath her. A large part of Lucy wanted to rush down through the castle to learn the message as soon as possible. A small but powerful part of her wanted not to move in the hope nothing would change as long as she didn't, as though the news would only become true when she heard it. As long as she didn't the sun would hang unmoving just above the far distant mountaintops like a ball of blood and her sister and two brothers might still be alive. The small but powerful part prevailed. Cair Paravel was so large that finding even a Queen and Sole Ruler in it could take a while and the news seemed to take a long time to reach her, and no time at all. She was alone in the turret room because Cory could not manage the spiral staircase up to it so was standing guard in the room below, and because she had ordered everyone else away. When at last the shadows of the far distant mountains were stretching out towards the castle like a great sharp-taloned claw and the wings of night's darkness were lapping around it to either side from the east she heard the tap of small hooves on the twisting staircase and knew it was over she straightened her spine and turned away from the window to sit in a more queenly fashion on the box seat beneath it the same box seat on which Peter had sat while his elder sister had kneeled before him and wanked him off in simpler times Lucy knew nothing about arranging her skirts around her knees to receive the news. Mr. Tumnus appeared though the hole in the floor that was the head of the stairs, looking worried. "Your Majesty," he bowed. "There is news." Lucy wanted to scream and throw something at him. She knew there was news. She wanted to know what it was now it was too late to go on pretending it wasn't. "It is not bad news, Majesty," the faun said carefully. "Nor is it good news." "But what is it, Mr. Tumnus?" Lucy begged. She wanted to rush across the room to the faun and shake him as the small woodland creature was only a little bigger than she was now, but couldn't move. "High King Peter has taken the army underground," the creature said slowly, watching her carefully. "Yes," said Lucy. "And...?" "There is no more news, Majesty," the faun declared. "Merely that High King Peter has taken the army underground, in accordance with King Edmund's directions." "But we knew he would have to," Lucy exclaimed. "It was always the most likely outcome," the faun agreed carefully but with a sadness and resignation Lucy didn't miss. She had known her brothers' best chance was to catch the trolls in the open in daylight, unlikely as that was. She hadn't, though, thought it had been their only chance as the faun's gloom suddenly suggested. Within her, without warning, something broke. "They're dead, aren't they," she wailed and taking three steps across the room flung herself weeping at the faun. Mr. Tumnus had been the first creature she had met in Narnia and she liked him and trusted him. He remembered Narnia as it had been before the White Witch's long reign so he had to be well over 100 years old but he actually looked to be around twenty and apart from the two short horns that stuck out of his hair just above his forehead and his rather long, pointy ears he was human-looking above the hips. Indeed wearing a hat (and a shirt) and standing behind a wall he could have passed unnoticed in England as a rather long-haired university student with bright, cheery, intelligent eyes, a stubby, rather red nose and a broad, smiling mouth. Unlike most university students, however, he never wore any clothes and his only concession to the White Witch's winter had been a long, red woollen scarf wrapped around his neck. Now that the children had returned the seasons to normal he invariably wore even less but this did not cause even Susan a problem as, below the waist, Mr. Tumnus was of course pure goat with the legs of the animal and even a tail all covered by thick, shiny black hair. He was not a big creature and had neither the strength nor the stomach for a fight, which was why he was not with the army. Indeed he was lighter than King Peter which was why when Lucy threw herself at him and flung her arms around his torso he staggered backwards against the wall. "My Queen, my Queen," he protested clutching at her as the weeping girl clung to him. "I'm not a queen," Lucy wailed into his chest. "I'm just a little girl and I want to go home." "Oh tush tush," Mr. Tumnus tried to sound cheerful. "This is your home now. You're quite safe here." He began stroking her hair comfortingly. "My home's in London where mother is," Lucy sobbed. "This isn't real, with talking horses and fauns and unicorns and everything. I'm stuck in some sort of silly book and I want to get out even if the Germans are everywhere." Mr. Tumnus had no idea what Germans were but from the tone of Lucy's voice they didn't sound like someone you invited to tea. "There, there," he coo'd gently, patting Lucy on the back. The top of her head was just below his chin and she was squeezing him hard, which was a little odd considering she had just declared that he wasn't real. He could feel her hot tears and breath against the bare skin of his chest and the stiff velvet of the front of her dress against his stomach. Stroking her back he could brush the folds of the dress gathered at her waist and flowing down neatly over her little bottom. As his Queen didn't seem to notice or mind he began stroking her little bottom a little more. Despite the faun's age Lucy Pevensey had been the first human he had ever laid eyes on but he had made something of a study of the species and one of the few things all the authorities agreed on was that humans suffered an acute shortage of hair or fur. Indeed apart from the hair on their heads and the possibility suggested by some and scoffed at by others that they had a small patch in front between their legs for some inexplicable reason, it was agreed they had none at all. An inevitable consequence of this was that of all the inhabitants of Narnia only its Kings and Queens did not have hairy bottoms with the possible exception of the White Witch whose bottom no-one had seen and lived to talk about. The body servants who attended the four humans were in some cases not adverse to a little gossip and from them he had established that the bottoms of humans were indeed unhaired. Moreover they agreed there was a little hair in the front and between the legs of the two elder humans, although hardly enough to furnish a beard for a pixie it seemed, but not between the legs of the two younger ones so the debate between the authorities on that one ended in a draw! The idea of a hairless bottom fascinated Mr. Tumnus. It was a reluctant fascination and not something he had ever told anyone, and there were even times when he felt deeply ashamed of it as it was clearly unnatural and even depraved. Almost his first thought upon meeting the girl and realising what species she was had been to begin looking for ways he might examine her bottom for hairlessness and his principle reason for accepting the post of her Secretary had been that it gave him the opportunity to spend a lot of time in her company and continue the pursuit of that object. Now, with the object still unachieved and three of the four humans in Narnia quite likely not in Narnia any more except as bloodstains and a few unrecognisable lumps of meat with the fourth like to join them in the same state of non-existence, if that was technically possible, within a few weeks or even days his opportunities were rapidly slipping away. Even thinking about what a bottom without hair might look like had set his blood racing and he was well aware that as a result there was something stirring in the glossy, thick, properly long hair that covered his lower belly and loins between the legs just as much as it did his bottom. However as this stirring was at around the level of the Queen's tummy where the thick, stiff velvet of her dress plunged in a 'V' down between her legs to where her sister had had probably had, he corrected himself that odd, stray, illogical tuft of hair, he hoped she would not feel it against her. "I'm scared, Mr. Tumnus," the little girl whispered between sobs. "I want to go home." Nodding understandingly the faun patted her gently on the back between the shoulder-blades with one hand and gently on the bottom with the other. However the thick folds of her dress denied him anything apart from a general sense of its littleness, roundness and softness and told him nothing of its baldness. It was very frustrating but with the heavy material falling in thick folds to her ankles there was no way he could possibly lift enough of it to expose her legs and bottom without her being aware of it as he might have been able to do with the short, light 'summer dress' made for the Queen by the fairy Peaseblossom but which the High Queen had quite understandably refused to let her sister wear. Even the brief sight of the Queen's little hairless legs had provoked a statistically significant spike in the birthrate among the castle's rabbits and led to an short increase in the number of rapes happily reported by the gnomes apparently rape was the only way a female gnome could be persuaded to mate at all and they were so ugly a male gnome had to be very highly fired up indeed in order to want to rape one, which tended to keep the gnome population small and stable. "Aslan," the snivelling Queen exclaimed suddenly, jerking upright in his arms. "Eh! Where?" Guiltily Mr. Tumnus snatched away the hand that had been stroking her bottom and started stroking her hair with it instead. The only humans ever to appear in Narnia were brought there by Aslan so like most Narnians the faun regarded them as his personal property and it followed that to be caught by the great lion fondling the bottom of one of his possessions without just cause could lead to trouble. "No." Wriggling excitedly the Little Queen pushed herself far enough away from him in his arms to be able to look up into his face. Hers was tear-streaked, puffed and blotchy but her eyes shone. "Aslan won't let anything bad happen to them, I know." Mr. Tumnus tried to reflect her enthusiasm. "Of course he won't," he said encouragingly and hoping none of his true thoughts about that were visible. To anyone who studied Narnia's history Aslan seemed a capricious deity at least, appearing from nowhere to put a couple of humans on the throne almost like breeding stock and then vanishing again for years, often only reappearing just in time to avert utter disaster as sons fought with fathers over the right to mate with their mother or brothers reduced Narnia to a wasteland fighting over possession of a sister. After all you couldn't ignore the fact that Narnia had just emerged from a 100-year winter without Christmas that had wiped out 80% of the population, totally wrecked the economy and plunged many species of flora and fauna into extinction altogether. As governance went, Aslan's style seemed to have little to recommend it. The little girl brightened and visibly pulled herself together. In a moment she was going to step away from him and out of his arms, where she had felt very nice, and perhaps his last chance ever to find out what a totally hairless bottom actually looked like would be gone for ever. A sudden almost overwhelming temptation to wrestle his Queen to the floor and pull her skirts up for a good look at what was under them swept through him to be quelled with difficulty, in part because he suspected the little girl had enough strength compared to his to make a real fight of it but mostly because despite her prospects she was still probably going to remain Queen for long enough to make his life exceedingly unpleasant and even shorter. While killing her would undoubtedly earn him a few credits with the White Witch when her forces actually arrived to take the castle, his chances of living that long were non-existent for although the Queen's Centaur Cory might not be able to get up the stairs to him there were plenty of creatures in the castle that could. Reluctantly he let the little creature go. Sniffing and wiping her eyes on the little bit of rag she carried around for the purpose she stepped away. Then she blew her nose noisily on the rag and turned to him. "Do you want to take my dress off?" she asked brightly. "Ah, ehm, Majesty?" he enquired, trying to look as innocent as only a faun can. She tucked the used rag into a sleeve of her dress, a habit that always made the fastidious Tumnus wince internally. "Don't you want to shag me?" she enquired, looked puzzled. "The way you were touching my bottom just now... And your.." She caste a glance at the thick fur of his thighs. "Your thingy was wiggling against my tummy." She gave a shrug. "You'll have to undo the lacing, though. I can't reach it." She turned round to show him the lacing holding together the back of her dress and with an arm thrown back over her shoulder demonstrated that she couldn't reach it to undo it on her own. Mr. Tumnus stared at her aghast. He couldn't deny he wanted to take her dress off. The desire to do that had burned in him since the first day they had met and the temptation to let her fall asleep in front of the fire in his little cave after tea so that he could take her clothes off her little body had been almost as strong as his terror that if he didn't betray her to the White Witch he would be killed or worse. It had been in fact his disgust at himself for his perverted fascination with her supposedly hairless bottom that had led him to choose to let her go, as though the nobility of the one act would cancel out the depravity of the second desire. But though he had never heard the word 'shag' before he had read it in 'Webfoot's Lexicon of Human Blasphemy and Arcana" where it had been given the suggested meaning 'sexual congress? (demeaning?)'. Clearly from the context in which the Queen had used it Webfoot had been at least partially right. Trans-species sexual congress was not unknown in Narnia after all, that was how sheepdogs earned the name and there were scurrilous, heretical whispers that fauns themselves were a result of a trans-species mating between a long-forgotten and lonely Queen of Narnia and a male goat but most species regarded it as beneath their dignity and fauns were particularly straight about it, limiting their sexual congress quite properly only to intercourse with nymphs in the forest on moonlit nights in Spring. That this left Mr. Tumnus in a rather unsatisfied state for substantial periods was unfortunate but part of faun life, and of course the hundred year winter from which Narnia had just emerged had been a particularly substantial period to be endured. He realised he could not apply his prejudices to the girl, of course. The human rulers introduced by Aslan had been shagging the various animal inhabitants of Narnia talking or otherwise - for as far back as the verbal record went. After all they often had nothing else to shag. Moreover Lucy Pevensey was the Queen of all the creatures in Narnia equally and so could presumably have sexual congress with any one of them if she wanted to. He had not, though, been prepared for her to want to have sexual congress with him which apparently she did. It was certainly not something he had ever contemplated. The thought of her hairless bottom made his goat's penis twitch, yes, but that was because he imagined the girl's hairless bottom would surely look like a full moon and for a faun's penis a full moon was the sign of great things to come. The thought of putting his penis into a different species though, even a talking one or especially a talking one, was disgusting and of course against the Law Leviticus 18, 23. Yet only by agreeing to do it would she take her dress off for him giving him a sight at long last of a human, hairless bottom. And of course she was his Queen by Aslan's command so if she asked him to shag her did he really have any choice? "Don't you want to shag me?" she asked again, looking over her shoulder at him with some surprise as she waited for him to begin undoing the lacing. "Er, Majesty..." He stammered for time as his desires and disgusts warred in his breast. "It is a huge honour you are offering me," he said weakly to try to excuse his inactivity. "Is it?" Queen Lucy sounded surprised. "Yes, I suppose it is," she added thoughtfully as though to herself. "After all, I am a Queen." Her eyes flicked back to his face. "I wouldn't let just anyone do it you know, Mr. Tumnus," she assured him. "But you're my friend so I don't mind letting you. And.." Her voice dropped conspiratorially, "I trust you not to tell anyone I let you. Some might think that if I let you I ought to let everybody. And it's probably better if Susan doesn't find out. She's a bit sniffy about things like shagging." In the opinion of Mr. Tumnus it was unlikely that the High Queen's views on anything were still of any relevance while even if Little Queen Lucy did proclaim her willingness to shag with any of her subjects who desired it such was the distaste most of Narnia's inhabitants for interspecies sex that she was unlikely to be rushed off her feet, as it were. However he had to admit to himself that there were some sectors of the populace who would embrace her offer, and hence the Queen herself, gleefully. Dogs and goats were probably the worst although of course satyrs would happily shag anything with a hole in it. No, it was do it or be damned never to know what a hairless bottom looked like and with a fierce glow of defiance for the Law Mr. Tumnus chose his path and hurried down it. "My Queen, it would be my honour to shag you," he bowed and then reached for the ties on the back of her dress. His hands as he undid them were trembling with excitement and anticipation, and with a bit of worry that when it came to the crunch inserting his penis in the strangle, hairless little animal before him would be too much for him to stomach. Then all he could hope was to persuade the girl that copulating with her as Queen was just too big an honour for a simple faun and hope that she wouldn't order him to do it anyway. When the front of her dress fell forward the Queen stepped away from him and shrugged the sleeves down her white and hairless arms, letting the whole garment subside in a heap around her feet before stepping out of it. Beneath it she was wearing a single loose white garment from her neck to her knees which Mr. Tumnus assumed was one of the shifts, linen (27) listed in the inventory of her queenly possessions and which she dragged over her head and threw in a bundle onto the box-seat below the window. For a moment she stood before him totally naked and then, presumably because he had shown no sign that he was going to do it and there was no-one else in the room to do it, she bent over and picked up the heavy dress, folded it loosely and threw it onto the box as well. Then she turned back to him and waited. Mr. Tumnus swallowed. It was true. Apart from the dark hair on her scalp and the back of her head she was totally naked. Even on the little puffy, split pad between her legs where he had been told her sister had a small, strange and lonely growth of hair, Queen Lucy the Little of Narnia was totally hairless. The expanse of her white, bald skin was repugnant, repulsive, disgusting, loathsome, incredibly, appallingly, deliciously unnatural, perverted and exciting. The faun shivered and quivered at the awful thrills rolling through him and which he knew had already provoked his penis to project long and glistening pinkly from the fur between his thighs. "Er," With her eyes on it the little queen sounded suddenly nervous, but determined. "You'll have to tell me how fauns do it," she said. As she was still facing him he still had not seen her bottom but the answer to her question was to kill two birds with one stone. "If your Majesty will turn around," he said, more than a little nervously and squeakily himself, "And bend over." Queen Lucy did so, stepping forward a few paces so that she could brace herself with her hands on the cushion of the box seat under the window. Mr. Tumnus gazed on the small, round-but-deeply-cleft and totally hairless bottom presented to him and couldn't move. "Come on, Mr. Tumnus. I feel a bit silly," his Queen ordered. Still unable to breath and feeling much as he had when Aslan's breath had thawed him from the White Witch's petrification spell, the faun stumbled forward on his little black cloven hooves. His Queen's little hairless bottom was.. was.. Round as the full moon, or better yet like two white mistletoe berries nestling close on a branch, and the colour of cream, honey and snow, and as smooth, sweet and soft as all three. Devoid of fur or pelt it should have been horrible, white as a maggot, unfinished and ugly but the faun had never seen anything so lovely. With his penis forgotten in one hand he reached out with the other and with his heart in his mouth brushed its pure, bare, smoothly-curving slopes with the fingertips of the other. Oh. At his touch the Queen giggled and wriggled her bottom at him. Beneath the moons of her buttocks between the tops of her legs he could see a little cleft pouch with two little lobes like thick, pink butterfly wings sticking slightly out of it. Between them where the butterfly's body would have been was a little black mouth which from the annotated sketches of her genitals made long ago by Queen Capillaca's favourite dog Rex, Mr. Tumnus knew was his destination rather than the little puckered but rather more obvious hole just above it which, of course, every Narnian possessed. The Little Queen wriggled her little bottom at him again and with a hint of impatience. His dream had come true. Now he had to see if he could pay the price. Stiffening his sinews and summoning all his courage he shuffled forward the last few inches and presented the red, flat, slightly chisel-edged tip of his goat penis to the butterfly's body. Perhaps, he thought suddenly and hopefully, his long inch-thick penis would be too big for the little female human as certainly the hole he could see was nothing like big enough. On the other hand she had taken a long hard look at it over her shoulder as he had shuffled towards her and while he had seen a small worried twitch of her nose she was clearly bracing herself for him to push into her and so was herself clearly of the opinion she could accept it. Touching her flesh reluctantly with his own he found it soft and warm, and elastic enough to give way before the blunt end of his penis. Once the tip was in it grew no wider so it was then a case of simply seeing how far he could slide it into the little creature's body. To his surprise it went all the way and eventually the fur of his underbelly pressed against her buttocks and the inside of his thigh from flank to stifle pressed against her thigh and his penis felt as though it was wrapped in a tight, warm glove. The ripples of revulsion faded from his shoulders and spine and it occurred to him that, Leviticus notwithstanding, interspecies sexual congress might not be too bad after all. The Queen wriggled her little bottom against his belly hair and he changed the qualification from 'not too bad' to 'perhaps quite pleasant.' Looking down at the round white bare bottom tucked snugly into his concave hairy goat underparts he devoutly rested his hands lightly on it as though to steady the Queen, gave a deep sigh of contentment and released his seed into her. The hot flow surged delightfully down his penis into the human female's little body and almost at once he realised that there was nowhere near the same amount of room in her as there was in the average nymph. Instead he felt a hot pressure around the tip of his penis which began crawling back up it as his seed filled the available space beyond and then the passage he was actually in, and which was if anything even more delightful as his penis felt as though it was bathing in its heat. At the same moment the little queen's head came up and she turned him a wide-eyed, cross look over her shoulder. "Mr. Tumnus, are you weeing in me?" she asked spikily. His memory of Webfoot's Lexicon informed him that 'to wee' was one of the many human ways of saying 'urinate' and he looked back at the girl with equally wide and surprised eyes. "No, Majesty," he assured her. "I am releasing my seed into you as I believed the verb 'shag' denotes." She scowled back at him. "Is this what you do with girl fauns?" she asked. "Majesty," the question shocked him and rendered him almost breathless when added to the delightful sensation of his seed flowing into the girl and then boiling around his penis out of her again. It was already dribbling out of her as fast as he was releasing it into her. "There are no female fauns. We are all male. We mate with the nymphs of the wood into which we release our seed like this on the nights of full-moon in spring. As such nights do not occur often and yet in this manner are all the flowers of the woodland realm implanted in the soil, we must needs be copious." She stared at him for a moment and then grunted "Copious!" Every nerve of his body was singing with delight as the hot sylvan semen poured rather like urine, he had to admit - down his penis and then squeezed its way back up the channel it was in to flow copiously down the crack in the front of the little human female's body. Shagging nymphs was fun but he had to admit shagging human queens was nicer. "Is this all you do?" the Queen enquired, slightly sarcastically. "All? What else is there to do?" Was she never going to cease surprising him? "Well... Jiggle it about a bit?" "Jiggle, Majesty?" "You know, slid it in and out. I thought that was what males did." "Slide it in and out? No, Majesty. Its purpose is to introduce the seed of copulation into the female's body. That is what it is doing, most satisfactorily." He gave a contented sigh as he felt the pressure in his body ease and the flow begin to slow. The Queen sniffed pointedly. "'Most satisfactorily' for you, maybe," she observed and then dropped her head as though to peer underneath her body at what was happening between her legs. She was grumbling in low tones as she did so and he thought he heard the words 'Aslan' and 'males' but as he suspected she didn't want him to hear and was if nothing else a discrete secretary, he didn't listen very hard. As the last of his seed flowed weakly into her and his penis began to wilt Mr. Tumnus shivered as the cascades of delight died away in his body and then slid the floppy organ out of the female human's little bottom. A small gout of his seed followed it to flow over the Queen's sopping cleft and, he saw, run stickily down the inside of her legs. They were both standing in a small puddle of his semen on the stone floor and Mr. Tumnus saw that the Queen's shoes, which she had not taken off, had received a fair amount from the flow down inside her legs and were full of it. As she eased one foot experimentally a gout of his semen was squeezed out of one side of the shoe to dribble down the brushed velvet side. Queen Lucy sighed wearily but Mr. Tumnus knew that she owned 32 pairs of town shoes, 16 pairs of indoor shoes, ten pairs of slippers and six pairs of dancing pumps. Quite which category the shoes she was wearing came under he wasn't sure but whatever they were they were now also ruined and the consequent amendment to the inventory would, of course, have to be made. Nymphs didn't wear shoes, nor indeed anything else, so it was not a problem for them and puddles didn't form on the soft leaf litter of the forest floor where such activity usually took place. The Queen straightened up and, looking down at herself, sighed again. She kicked off the shoes and, picking the shift off the box-seat beside her, tore a long strip off the skirt and began wiping herself down. The faun bent himself easily double, licked his penis clean in the usual manner and then let it neatly shrivel itself away into its almost invisible skin pouch. Queen Lucy, who had watched him, gave a disgruntled grunt and went back to her toilette. "I have not satisfied my Queen?" he probed gently. The paper he intended to write anonymously - on the mechanics of copulating with human females to replace the famous but long-lost treatise on the subject by Rex was clearly going to need some additional research. Jiggling? Sliding in and out? Queen Lucy gave yet another gusty sigh. "Oh, if that's what you usually do..." She sounded resigned. "It felt funny. Not not-nice, I suppose. But jolly messy. And you didn't take very long." She stopped wiping her legs for a moment and stared out of the turret slit at the night gathering outside. "But you did take my mind off it for a moment," she finished quietly and sadly. Humans expected it to take longer? Wood nymphs were fairly fragile but they were still a match for fauns and holding one down even long enough to get a penis inside it could be a struggle. Once in it you released as much seed into it as you could as quickly as you could before it escaped by changing itself into a moonbeam and you had to go in search of another. Fauns specialised in quick and plentiful. "If your Majesty would enlarge on what she desires in a shag I would, of course, devote myself to satisfying her," Mr. Tumnus declared boldly. While necessary for his monograph the faun could not deny that he wanted very much to shag his Queen again. Though it lacked the thrill of the hunt, sneaking though the woods in the moonlight in search of the nymphs dancing in a clearing and the exhilarating dash from cover in the hopes of grabbing one and wrestling it to the ground before it flitted away, he was really getting too old for that kind of thing and having an attractive receptacle for his semen which made itself available and waited around until he had finished made it even more attractive. His seed went to waste, of course, both on the stone floor of the castle and as presumably it needed something from the nymph's essence to fertilise it as it dripped from her fleeing substance onto the forest floor to become bluebell and woodbine, primrose and bellflower. It was sick, too, for if he accepted shagging with this little creature was there any real reason why he shouldn't also shag his ovine cousins sheep and, at a stretch, fawns although the latter were more particular? And he couldn't deny that there were awfully few spring full-moons in a year and 'weeing' his seed into anything female felt so good it was no surprise Leviticus had banned it. If the Book hadn't everyone would be doing it all the time! He shivered fearfully and deliciously as he realised where his thoughts were leading. The White Witch presumably had no time for Leviticus either as it was rumoured that she had the most outrageous acts of interspecies sexual congress performed for her by willing or non-willing creatures as entertainment during meals, and also whispered that she had shagged the creatures closest to her such as her wolf Chief of Police Maugrim, the Minotaur who had led her armies and even her dwarf butler in order to keep their loyalty. All three were now dead but if she was returning to Narnia as events seemed to indicate she would need a fresh staff around her and... Mr. Tumnus had met the White Witch several times, when being recruited by her to spy for her in the forest and again after his arrest for not turning Lucy Pevensey over to her when the little human first arrived, and despite the fact that she had scared the pelt off him she had been unquestionably magnificent. Moreover when she held the rulership of Narnia she did at least rule, unlike Aslan who wandered off and let it all fall to pieces under his alien implants. Life for those who supported the Witch was even quite good, he supposed, though it tended not to be for those who didn't. If she was coming back... Little Queen Lucy's bottom had been delightful but the icy white bare bottom the White Witch surely had, presented to him with that little winged hole waiting... "Oh, not now Mr. Tumnus," Queen Lucy said in answer to his question. "Perhaps another time. I need a bath, and I might as well go to bed. I don't suppose we'll get any more news until the morning." The faun thought it more likely that she would be waiting the rest of her probably short life for any news of what had happened to her sister and brothers underground but smiled encouragingly. "I'm sure good news will arrive with the dawn, Majesty." He recognised too that the 'another time' she had offered would be never and not only because she very likely did not have a lot of it left. He had failed to give the little creature what she had wanted in a shag and she had lost interest in him. In truth he was quite fond of the little thing in a sentimental kind of way as well as in her status as an object of study but arrogance and condescension were universally recognised as inherent traits in humans, perhaps because Aslan set them above all native Narnian's, and they were as strong in Queen Lucy as they had been in the other three. She shrugged her way back into the torn shift, the white cloth slithering down her ridiculous smooth, white, bald, lust-provoking body and then stepped back into the dress. As she presented her back he courteously laced it up again for her and then having wrapped the shoes up in the rag she had cleaned herself with she tossed the bundle out of the window for the long, long fall into the sea below. "Goodnight, Mr. Tumnus," she sighed, padding over to the head of the staircase and leaving a trail of small, thinning footprints of his semen on the stone. "Goodnight, Your Majesty. Sleep tight," he wished her with his deepest, courtliest bow. She nodded an acknowledgement and padded down the cold steps in her bare feet. As her head passed below floor-level the everlights in the room, having been automatically brightening against the growing night in recognition of the Queen's presence, dimmed again leaving just one by the head of the stairwell glowing faintly for him. He waited until the voices and the clatter of the Queen's horse-man's hooves on stone and weaponry against weaponry had gone and then crossed to the head of the stair himself. The forbidden thought, 'Narnia for the Narnian's', tickled his mind and he didn't chase it away quite as quickly as he would have done before. He did warn himself, though, that shagging his Queen could make it easy for a faun to get above himself. Well aware of her shoeless state, the condition of her shift and the fact that the noses of many of her personal servants were more than sufficiently acute to smell out the residue of the faun's spunk on her, as she could still smell for herself the faint fragrance of woodland glade issuing from her cunt, Lucy unceremoniously ordered them all from her chambers hoping they would attribute her tantrum to her worry about her co-rulers. Then, abashed, she had to leave her rooms again to ask Cory politely to unlace her dress so she could take it off for her bath. She didn't know how acute the Centaur's nose was being on his human part she assumed it was much the same as hers nor whether he would recognise faun spunk if he smelled it, but his silence as he unlaced the garment spoke of a deep unhappiness within him. "Than you, Cory," she said softly when she felt him finish but he said nothing. She wanted very much to invite him into her rooms where, once, he had stood guard over her but his place outside the Queen's doors had been ordered by Susan as High Queen and to invite him would be to put the two orders in direct conflict. As Lucy harboured the unpleasant suspicion that the Centaur would decide that Susan outranked her she was reluctant to put the matter to the test. She was also aware of an ulterior motive for inviting the massive, forbidding creature into her bedroom and she did not want to put that to the test either. Her highly unsatisfactory shag by Mr. Tumnus had left her feeling tingling but uncompleted and she itched to complete it. Obviously Peter would not be visiting her tonight and apart from Mr. Tumnus Cory was the only male creature in the castle she trusted enough to ask for a shag. Before shagging her himself Aslan had told her that when she wanted the pleasures of sex any prick would do it, though some better than others. "The prick of boy, horse, dog or lion in your cunt will all be the same to you when the blood is hot and crying out for satisfaction, and any of them better than a candle or your own finger," she heard in her mind him tell her. As far as the 'some better than others' bit Lucy now knew Aslan had been right because Mr. Tumnus' prick had been a distinct disappointment. It had filled her nicely enough but that was all it had done and the mess caused by his seed running down her legs and into her shoes like wee had more than offset the pleasant sensations of it swirling hotly in her middle and out of her cunt. She even knew her blood was not 'hot and crying for satisfaction'. She felt cold, frightened and lonely and had sought the sensation of a shag from Mr. Tumnus mostly in the hope it would made her feel less so. It had done so to a small extent but now she was alone and feeling cold and frightened again. 'The prick of boy, horse, dog or lion in your cunt...' Neither of the boys who could do it were in the castle and she hoped the only lion in Narnia, if he was in Narnia at all, was with the boys helping them rescue their other sister. She didn't know any of the dogs in the castle well enough to invite it to shag her, nor any of the male dwarves, rabbits, beavers, bears, badgers etc left behind by the army. That left horses, and unless she was going to sneak down to the stables to see what she could achieve with a non-talking horse which was exactly like the kind of horse she had known in England and had nothing whatever to do with, that left Cory. But he was so big. And his prick was on the horse part of him. Even when they weren't wearing armour all Centaurs wore cloaks across their backs that hung to their knees and so Lucy had never seen their pricks, but she had seen the dangling pricks of dumb horses and seriously doubted she would be able to take anything so thick and so long in her little cunt. Nor could she even imagine asking the Centaur to try. He, like all Centaurs, was so aloof, so haughty, and she simply could not imagine what his reaction would be were she to ask him. She had been surprised by the obvious reluctance of Mr. Tumnus to shag her as from her previous experience with Aslan and her brothers she had assumed that any male would jump at the chance to do so. Now she was no-longer sure of that and while presumably Cory would attempt to shag her if she ordered him to as his Queen, the possibility that it would be against his will and the effect that would have on their relationship had to be considered. Being a Queen, she was learning, was not simply a matter of issuing orders and having them obeyed. Twitched and dissatisfied she paced to and fro in her bed-chamber and then gave in to the inevitable. Practically anything male might be better in her cunt than a candle or her fingers excepting fauns, she now knew but in practice at that moment a candle and her fingers were all she had, and there at least she had plenty of practise. "Lucy." The gentle purring growl filled the bed-chamber like sunshine and she lifted her head from the pillows to see the great lion padding into it from her dressing room. For the second time Aslan had walked in on her as she had lain naked on her bed with her legs spread wide open and a hand working an everlight in her cunt but Lucy didn't care. Pausing only long enough to extract the magic candle and drop it she bounded from the bed and flung herself at the lion's head. "Oh Aslan," she wept, hands buried in his mane and her little nude body pressed to his huge nose. "Oh Aslan, what's happened?" The lion's purr of pleasure vibrated through her, almost rattling her teeth. "Your brothers and sister are safe," he told her. "There was a great battle underground and they were victorious. They will be back in Cair Paravel by tea-time tomorrow." "Oh, oh, oh," Lucy clung to him, weeping with relief. "Oh thank you, Aslan." "But Lucy," the lion continued, "All is not as it was. The events of the last day have changed your brothers and your sister profoundly and when they return you will also need to change to accommodate them." "Change?" Lucy gulped. "How?" "It is called growing up, child," the great lion purred, "And it is not for me to tell you how. You must find your own way in that." "Oh, they're safe. They're safe. That's all that matters," Lucy sobbed. Aslan waited patiently until she had cried herself out and her sobbing had eased and then drew in a great breath through his nose against which she was pressed. "Fee, fie, fo, fum, I smell the spunk of a faun on your bum," he growled playfully. Lucy eased her grip on his mane and slid off his great nose to stand before him, looking sheepish. "It was Mr. Tumnus," she said guiltily. "But I did ask him to. I felt so lonely, and..." She trailed off into silence. "Child, I am not your father," Aslan said gently. "You have no need to excuse yourself to me. Here in Narnia you are a queen and may do as you wish, including fucking with fauns if that is your fancy. But I do not think I lie if I suggest there are males in Narnia you would enjoy being fucked by more than a simple faun." Lucy nodded. "I know, Aslan. But... Aslan, would you like to shag - fuck me again?" "Very much, child." "Then if you want... Oh, I'd like you to so much." The lion's answer was a purr of pleasure than rumbled like a huge and distant avalanche. "How, er, how would you like me?" Lucy asked with hard-suppressed eagerness. "Oh," From undertones in the lion's rumble Lucy knew he was laughing, "Why not pretend I'm a faun, and we'll see what the wood-nymphs are missing?" Giggling Lucy turned and bent over, bracing herself with her hands on the bed and opening her legs as she had for Mr. Tumnus. Watching between them she saw an upside-down lion pad around behind her and crouch down, waggling his bottom as the Pevensey's household cat had with a mouse in its sights in London. As the great lion pounced Lucy screamed, and only partly in fun as with claws extended and fangs bared Aslan was a truly terrifying sight, but the lion's great paws, big as dinner-plates, landed on the bed in front of her head with a big squeaky bounce while its back legs landed lightly just behind hers on the floor, his furry chest lay along her back just brushing it and his golden mane fell around her head like a great wig, his great flanks enfolded her little round bottom and a pointy feline prick that was not too hot and not too cold, not too big and not too little, not too long and not too short but was just right, slipped into her little cunt and began doing just the right things to blow her mind. Far, far away on the other side of Narnia and deep, deep below the impassable peaks of the Westron Range was a cavern no bigger than Queen Lucy's bed-chamber that very few creatures knew about. At the centre of the cavern was a pool of water known to the very few creatures as The Eye of Proteus. No-one knew where the water had come from as obviously no rain had ever fallen in the cavern and no river had ever run nearby. It had been there, it was said, for ever and in all of that time it had never been disturbed by the smallest vibration. Even the tiniest bubble the water might have contained had long since risen to the surface and popped, even the tiniest grain of dust that might once had fallen on its surface had sunk far, far down into its bottomless depths so that as far down into the pool as anyone could see the water was utterly motionless and so pure that it seemed not even to exist. In the space that was that purest of motionless water a tiny, perfect image of Little Queen Lucy's bed-chamber in Cair Paravel hung like a motionless bubble with a tiny golden lion poised half on and half off the bed, its great thighs humping gently as though at something beneath it although all that could be seen were two tiny human feet between the huge back paws of the lion and two little white arms reaching down to the bed from beneath the lion's mighty chest and rocking slightly back and forth in response to the thrusts of the lion's hindquarters. In the ageless silence of the cavern could be heard little squeals and gasps issuing from beneath the lion, a contented rumbling from the lion itself and the flap, flap, flap of a furred body bumping on a soft, hairless one. "Don't touch the water," the White Witch warned softly and the huge, scarred, foul-smelling and ugly troll in the cavern with her withdrew its nose a few inches from the surface of the pool. "I no see which hole lion in," the troll complained, moving carefully around the pool's edge for a better look. "Maybe no hole at all." With the barest twitch of her lips betraying her annoyance in an otherwise impassive face the White Witch drew a curve with her hand through the air, one finger raised, and as she did so the little model of Queen Lucy's bedchamber in the pool appeared to rotate around three axes as the tiny fly that was actually in the room stopped hovering in a corner and flitted down to beneath the lion's back legs where it looked up. The light, of course, was bad there but the night vision of trolls is very, very acute and the troll staring into the pool could clearly see the pinkly glistening cat's penis of the lion pistoning in and out of the lower of the two holes of the little human female's little body. Then the model tumbled and spun wildly for a moment and blinked out of existence as the lion's lashing tail caught the fly and sent it flying in the room so far away. The White Witch gave an irritated 'tsck' of the tongue and a flick of the fingers, and a new scene appeared in the Eye of Proteus. In a weary silence figures moved around a much larger cavern than the Eye's as giants and dwarves dragged troll corpses across the cavern floor and tipped them down a bottomless hole in the corner and dwarfish shamen moved among rows of injured dwarves and fighting dogs, and even a few gashed Centaurs, applying poultices and chants. On a rock near the centre of the chamber the High Queen of Narnia sat gazing unmoving at the body of a green-haired siren beneath a cloak on a Blood-Altar beside her, behind her the High King of Narnia paced restlessly to and fro, shooting frequent and troubled glances at his sister while stroking the hilt of the sword at his belt as though for reassurance and behind him Narnia's other king sat without knowing it on the Underthrone for the system and watched them both. Nothing had changed since last the troll had seen the scene and it straightened up to take two backward paces and sit in the chair carved into the rock wall of the cavern presumably even before time began, as the construction of the chair after the pool had formed would have kicked a lot of dust into the Eye. "That one say lion hasn't fucked it," the troll pointed out, waving in the general direction of the Eye. The White Witch crossed the cavern to the troll, carefully skirting the pool. "In the world Aslan pulls his pets from," she said with a snooty sniff, "It is considered impolite to fuck with another species, so although they do it they don't like to admit to doing it. Don't forget Leviticus lived in that world. They are a very small-minded species." The troll muttered doubtfully in its own guttural tongue. With a hiss of exasperation the Witch waved a hand at the pool. "Aslan's turds, you've seen him fucking a Daughter of Eve. Even the little one could bear him a Sphinx in another two or three years. That one," without looking behind her she indicated the Susan in the Eye with a wave, "Could do it this year." The troll scowled reluctant acceptance of the contention. "So what matter a Sphinx to Ghalkemm? It creature of the sun. Can have up there and wipe arse on father's tanned hide, for Ghalkemm cares." The troll nodded at the surface far above them, "And Ghalkemm will rule the sunless places." It shrugged. "It always that way. That Deep Magic way." "Do you trust the Deep Magic that much?" the Witch asked patently. Her hands, tiny compared with the thick-fingered shovels at the ends of the troll's arms, released the ties of the kilt at its waist and folded it back from its lap. "A Sphinx can access the magic of rock and stone and so win the allegiance of the dwarves, uniting them. Could the trollogodyt, even united under Ghalkemm, stand against the dwarves united and added to the sunlanders led by a Sphinx?" The troll's ugly, impassive face twitched but that might have been a reluctant acceptance of the answer to the Witch's question or the effect of her little, long-fingered hands stroking its thick, short prick erect and her long nails surreptitiously scraping at the accumulation of dirt, congealed blood and rancid smegma from beneath the rim of the troll's bulging prick-helmet. The malodorous creature farted thoughtfully. With a sigh the Once and Future Queen of Narnia bent down and kissed the troll's throbbing, dirt-encrusted, pustule-pitted prick. "I have taken Ragnok out of your hair for you and split the Kentauros from the Throne of Narnia. With time I could recover the Throne of Narnia on my own but I have ever been impatient," the White Witch said, licking away a sour, watery emission oozing from the mouth of the troll-prick with a grimace. "You want Ghalkemm's help to sit on Throne of Narnia again. What does Ghalkemm get?" The troll looked down at her, amused. The White Witch rose, lifted the skirt of her gleaming dress, white silk and silver thread, to her waist, straddled the troll's thighs and began screwing its bloated penis into her neat, trim cunt. "You get a Queen of Narnia you know will not covet your sunless realm," she said, with a gasp of relief she couldn't quite hide as the bulging head of the troll's massive prick popped reluctantly through the gap in her pelvic girdle and into her vagina. "You get a Daughter of Eve, the little one, to amuse you and breed jotnar for your army and hags for your bed ." She slid down the fat pole until her weight rested across the troll's thighs and the neatly-timmed shield of her shining jet-black pubic hair pressed against the unkempt, louse-crawling bush at the base of its prick. "You get a Son of Adam, the younger one, to sing you to sleep with its screams," The White Witch clasped her hands behind the troll's short, thick neck began sliding herself up and down its prick. "You get ruler-to-ruler meetings with me for, ah, diplomatic intercourse," the Witch promised with a quiver in her voice as she began to grind her hips with a circular motion as well. "And you don't get a Sphinx up your arse," she breathed shakily as her cunt began squeezing the massive prick within its confines and her orgasms began. <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. 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