Melting the Ice Witch
Saving The Princess, part 1
Welcome to the fourth Sexy Saturday post. This is a smutty story, in Chuck Tingle’s style. It’s extremely explicit, more so than other posts. To read the last part you’ll have to click a link (unless you’re a paid subscriber)
CONTENT NOTE: Possession DubCon
I’m climbing the icy crags overlooking our winter encampment when I spot the falcon. I don’t like the look of it, it looks like a messenger falcon. For starters, there’s no falcons way up North here. For seconds, it’s poking at my mind with a distinct “Hey, I’m a messenger falcon from your royal bloodline, let me give you a message dangit” feeling. I fume as I scale the last rocky outcropping. I escaped out here to get away from all the royal politics and backstabbing, and for six years I had. I thought I was finally free.
The wind at the top snatches at the flowing red locks of my hair that came loose during the climb and whips them wildly. I plant my heels so my slight frame isn’t buffeted about, re-restrain my hair, and then extend a slender arm for the falcon to land on. It comes down immediately, with a feeling of “Well, took you long enough!” as it lands. I hold out my other hand for the message. The falcon bends its head down and vomits directly into it.
Magic messenger falcon vomit, of course. What comes out of its mouth is a tightly rolled square of vellum, perfectly clean. Only someone of my bloodline would get this message rather than actual falcon vomit, which is the whole point.
I whip the vellum out to full length with a flick of my wrist. The Vadran Ink sparkles in the sunlight as I read it.
‘Dearest Kalia,’
It’s my younger sister’s handwriting. She’d always made fun of how sloppy my handwriting was, while hers was so prim and proper. But she wanted to be princess, and I didn’t, so why would I practice neat handwriting? We fought sometimes, and not always just pillow-fights, but when I told her I was escaping six years ago she helped me steal a proper stallion in the middle of the night by acting as a distraction. She’s the only thing I miss from back home.
‘Our parents are giving me to King Volterath, of Parthinia. His army is at our gates, and it’s either that or we all burn.’
My breath caught in my throat. Even all the way up here, I had heard of Volterath the Cruel.
‘He is vile. His last two wives are never seen now, not even the servants know where they are! Word is I’ll be kept in a tower six months to ensure I’m not with child. Then he will breed me, over and over, until I bear him a son, to unite our two kingdoms. After that, I don’t know. Probably more breeding, with just this one gross, smelly man. No parties, no friends, no seeing the outside world or anyone else ever again. Just sewing and birthing.
He’s coming. I don’t have anywhere else to turn. No magic, no champion. Help me, please help me. I’ll wither and die in that prison.’
I crumple the letter in my fist, my blood boiling. This will not stand. My blade will sing again.
I thrust aside the massive hide covering the entrance to the Great Tent and stride in. The men gathered around the central fire peer at me, but say nothing. As the mate of the chieftain, it is my right.
(How did I get to become the mate of the chieftain, at my age? It’s a great story, but it’s a long one! Ask me some other time.)
On the far side of the fire, Dornath rises to his feet. His broad, bare chest glistens with sweat in the heat of the Great Tent. He rolls back thickly muscled shoulders, his spine cracking loudly as he stands. My womanhood awakens, a tingle igniting there and running up my spine like fire. My breasts rise as I inhale sharply, but I know there isn’t time for fun right now. My sister needs me.
Dornath’s dark, brooding eyes meet mine.
“What is wrong?” he asks with concern. He knows that I wouldn’t interrupt this conclave if it wasn’t urgent. This is why I love this man.
“I need the Avistrum herb, the hawk’s tears, and your council. My sister is in danger.” The language of the north is still a little awkward in my mouth, it’s so formal! I’ve gotten better over the years though. I slip out of my furs as I’m speaking, the tent’s too warm for them.
Dornath nods. “Give us the tent,” he orders. “Ulfgar, bring the materials.”
I spend the next few minutes explaining the situation, and he strokes his beard thinking as I talk. It’s starting to streak white at the corners of his chin, and it makes him even hotter. When I’m done I give him a quick kiss and squeeze his butt. I’m not made of stone.
“You’ve done the right thing,” he says. “Are you prepared?”
I nod, and as if on cue Ulfgar returns with a satchel of herbs and a tiny vial of liquid. Dornath pulls away from me with great effort, then takes the herbs and circles the fire slowly, tossing pinches in with every step. I inhale their smoke as they burn, and summon up my bloodline’s magic.
Dornath begins to chant, slow and low, and Ulfgar joins in. I feel power bubbling in my chest. As I inhale deeper, filling myself with herb smoke, my head swims, leaving my body. My vision lengthens, the walls of the tent draw further and further away, until I’m swaying in a great valley of distant, curving hides.
I uncork the vial and drop two hawk’s tears in each eye. The world spirals away and my sight flies across the world–far, far, over forests, past mountains, across fields and roads and villages, until it comes to the sprawling capital of Parthinia. Parthinia, not Silbathi! My sister is already there??
I look and see my little sister, even more fragile and dainty that I remembered. She approaches a palace, escorted by a dozen guards. They take her into a side entrance, they march her down stairs, under the ground, then down a very long passage. Finally they reach a hidden spiral staircase with no other entrance or exits, just up and and up into a room at the top of tower. A giant room, lavishly furnished, the finest prison in the land. And the last room she’ll ever see. The door is a foot thick and reinforced with iron. Magics overlay every inch of the place.
“It’s bad,” I slur into the Great Tent, sure that my mate can hear me, even though I can’t hear my own voice. I relay everything I see, until the herb overtakes me entirely and I fall into soft darkness.
I wake up in our hearth tent, bundled up in our clan’s best furs, with Dornath holding me closely. One hand of his gently kneads my breasts, and I snuggle into him.
“Kalia,” he begins, when he sees I’m awake, “The situation is dire. As the chieftain of the North Clans, I cannot go with you,” Instantly my heart freezes solid in my chest. “If the chieftain is caught disrupting a royal marriage our tribe will be thrown into a bloody war over the affairs of southerners which don’t concern us.”
I go rigid, chest tight, barely drawing breath. This can’t be happening.
“I will go with you as a clanless man – Dornath the Mate of Kalia, not Dornath The Chieftain of the North Clans. Tomorrow I give the crown to my brother Valtan, he will rule well and keep our people strong. Then we will rescue your sister together.”
A sob of relief breaks from my mouth. I can’t believe I doubted, even for a second. He’s the best man in the world. I turn into his arms and crush myself into him, tiny tears leaking from my eyes. My tits, always too large for comfort, smush against his barrel chest the way I love. He’s so solid! I wrap my arms up and around him, as far as I can, feeling his muscles under my hands. I want to take him right there, this flood of relief is a huge turn-on. I start to grind on him just a bit, expressing my joy with my body.
“Not now, woman,” he says, amusement in his voice. “We have many preparations to make. You realize we cannot do this on our own, yes?”
I haven’t had a moment’s time to think, but now that he’s drawn my attention to it, he’s right. Even for adventurers like us, this is no ordinary jail-break. We need powerful magic. We’ll need the blessing of a god, willing to make this a full Divine Quest. Out here there’s only one way to get that.
I look into his eyes and I can see he’s thinking what I’m thinking. “We need the Ice Witch,” we say in unison.
Deep in her ice cave, three valleys over and high up in the even-darker peaks of the Cold Summit, the Ice Witch’s closed eyes jerk as she mutters. She’s coming out of a trance that’s lasted half the day, because our request was so outlandish she said she had to commune with the gods. We had stayed silent the whole time, fiddling about the first chamber of her extensive cave dwelling and fighting down the temptation to peek deeper into her abode. A fire burns unnaturally bright in a hearth hewn from the rock wall, but it can’t seem to push away all the shadows of this place. They grow from heaps of herbs, bundles of bark, pillars of pots, and many shelves of sorcerous supplies. The whole cave brims with dark power, and doesn’t leave much room for pacing about or even sitting comfortably. We make do with a couple stools she pulled from under a narrow table, and watch as she twitches in the only chair in the place.
Suddenly she inhales sharply, drawing a deep breath. Her chest swells, and her already impressive mounds seem to grow even greater. Even under the thick furs she wears in her ice cave you can see this lady is absolutely stacked, and me and Dornath are both entranced by her. Her eyes flutter open as she exhales, and we look up to her severe face. She looks back with pupils still completely dilated. With another deep breath she rises and paces in a tight circle for many long minutes. Just brooding. She’s an imposing presence, almost a full head taller than me, though still shorter than Dornath. When I open my mouth to ask a question she raises a finger abruptly in warning. I stay quiet as she broods further.
Finally she turns to us, the dazed trance look replaced with skepticism and a bit of annoyance.
“No war, you say?” Despite being a witch she’s not that old, her voice doesn’t waver or creak. It’s just a bit hoarse from disuse. She taps her fingers on one of the flagons of mead we brought, as a gift. “A sister saved, a kingdom united, but with no armies marching, and only the blood of evil men spilled?”
We nod. Me, hopefully. Dornath, grimly.
“Well.” The Ice Witch shakes her head. “You ask for much. Most of the gods say you are ridiculous children, and laugh at you. All but one. The Queen of Fairies can give you the path you seek. A quest, magic powers, and guidance.”
I squeeze Dornath’s hand excitedly.
“But she wants much from me in return. Far more than I can give. Unless…”
She trails off. I hold my breath, but she just keeps not saying anything. Maybe this is a game? Are we supposed to say something?
“Unless what?” I finally say.
“I am old,” she says. She doesn’t look that old, maybe a few lines on her face, sure. But she has thick curves to match her giant tits, with wide mommy hips. I’d bet you could chew on her thighs for days. I put her in her late forties maybe, but she’s been in this cave since at least Dornath’s great-grandfather was a kid, and she’s always looked just like this. The only clue to her deep age is her pure-white hair – thick, slightly wavy and draping all the way down to her lower back. “I can be convinced to part with a lot, for delicacies I haven’t indulged in far too many decades.”
Dornath nods, prepared as always.
“What do you ask us?” he says. Very poetic, I like him for many reasons.
“The Three Gifts of Flesh,” the Ice Witch grins.
All in all, it turns out that’s actually not too bad. When we get back to the tribe there’s some confusion among the elders as to what exactly the Three Gifts of Flesh are, so we play it safe and go for the good stuff in each case. Weeks later we’re climbing back up to her cave, loaded down with more gifts.
“The flesh of the Nofkey Bear,” Dornath says, presenting her with over a thousand pounds of frozen meat. Me and him had spent days in the icy wilderness tracking that massive, six-legged monstrosity. Just the two of us, we spent long hours under the deep sky, talking, finding each other, interweaving our souls. Every night we edged each other in our snug tent. When we finally brought down the snarling mass of muscle and fur with bows and spears and a hidden chasm, our blood singing, we fucked like animals on top of that steaming body. Dornath roared like the Nofkey when he finally pounded his cum into me.
There is no finer meat in the north. The Ice Witch nods happily.
“The head of your greatest foe,” I say, tossing the head of Tizinki the Warlock at her feet. It only took a few days to recruit an adventuring party, but nearly two weeks to venture into Tiziniki’s domain and slay the bastard. The five of us saved a village along the way, and lost a companion to the Zrekles, and found a shared strength between us all that will hold forever. The traditional after-quest orgy was the best I’ve ever had, and I’m still glowing days later.
The Ice Witch spits at Tiziniki’s head, and gives us an approving nod.
“And the last?” she asks, her eyes glittering with anticipation.
“And at last, an eighty-four gallon puncheon of Silbathi oil, blessed by the Patriarch himself.” This had been the easiest one. We already had the messenger falcon here to place the order, and I got a deal since I was of royal blood. The puncheon had been delivered while me and Dornath were securing the first two gifts. Now it sits beside a very comfortable looking pile of furs near the hearth, with a ‘thanks for your business’ note on it.
The Ice Witch taps her foot expectantly. “And…?”
Uh oh. I exchange a worried glance with Dornath.
“And… we hope you find it very soothing?” Dornath tries.
“How, exactly, do you think it’s supposed to soothe me?” The ice witch asks, her brows drawing down in annoyance.
“It’s a massage oil,” I say, like she doesn’t know. “It makes you all tingly and relaxed and warm and happy. It’s like magic, because it is actually partially magic. Ultimate relief, we say!” Boy, I sounded like a bad pitchman there.
“Are you trying to insult me?” the witch asks, her lips drawing tight. “Or are you really this dumb?”
“Umm….”
“What do YOU use the oil for, when you get some?” she says.
And then it all makes sense. When we get the oil I rub it all over Dornath’s hard, chiseled body, until he looks as wet outside as I feel inside, and then I ride him until I can’t see straight and my head explodes.
“The third gift of flesh is us!” I exclaim.
“Indeed,” she confirms. “Both of you. Carnally.”
“One moment,” Dornath says, then turns away and pulls me with him. He leans in very close and peers into my eyes. “Kalia. This witch is a blessing and a curse. She is ageless, and there is always a catch with her gifts. If you don’t have doubts about this, you should. She may be evil. She’s certainly at least partly evil. We can walk away from this and find some other witch or wizard to invoke the gods for a quest-blessing.”
“You don’t know that,” I say. “This is nothing, and we’re very good at sex. Together we can bang all the evil out of her, at least for one night.”
“You’d fuck a crazy, ancient Ice Witch with me?”
I put my hand into his and squeeze it tight. “I’m here for you Dornath,” I say. “And I’m extremely slutty.”
“I do really love that about you,” he says, nodding.
“And I’m extremely bi,” I add.
“I really love that part too,” he agrees.
“So let’s show this witch how the Chieftain of the North Clans fucks. For the good of my sister, and all the southern kingdoms.”
Dornath takes my chin in his hand and leans down to kiss me deeply. Then he turns us both back to the Ice Witch.
“We accept,” he says. The Ice Witch laughs, a deep throaty laughter of elder delight. She hasn’t waited up, her flowing winter dress is already pooled around her feet and she stands entirely naked, with only the barest wisps of pubic hair. Her breasts are huge, I repress an urge to dash over and start squishing them immediately.
[To access the second half of the story, which is lots of banging and some plot, you can either be a paid subscriber, or read the rest FREE by clicking through to my smutty substack - Horny Is Fun. This is part one in a series, as Kalia and Dornath pursue a very sexy quest to save her sister.]
