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Subject: {ASSM} The Other Side of Narnia Ch.12 {Rex Antioch} (humour furry spoof)
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<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.





 


  








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