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THE MAGIC CLOAK: Chapters II & III
🕑 Added 2021-03-29 13:40:13 +0000 UTCHave to share more THE MAGIC CLOAK this month. Posting Chapters II and III as II is really just set up and plot without much action...but III gets to it! Over 4,000 words!
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Chapter II: THE BOOK OF LAWS
On this same night great confusion and excitement prevailed among the five high counselors of the queendom of Slipthia. The old queen was dead and there was none to succeed her as ruler of the country. She had outlived every one of her relatives, and since the crown had been in this one family for generations, it puzzled the high counselors to decide upon a fitting successor.
These five high counselors were very important women. It was said that they ruled the queendom while the queen ruled them; which made it quite easy for the queen and rather difficult for the people.
The chief counselor was named Bustra. She was very curvy and very pompous, and had a great respect for the laws of the land.
The next in rank was Tufstra, the lady high general of the queen’s army, whose outfit strained at her training-toned body.
The third was Golstra, the pear-shaped lady high purse-bearer.
The fourth was Hystra, the tall and lithe lady high steward.
And the fifth and last of the high counselors was Lextra, the alluringly dressed lady high executioner.
These five had been careful not to tell the people when the old queen had become ill, for they feared being annoyed by many foolish questions.
They sat in a big room next the bed-chamber of the queen, in the royal palace of Slippa, - which is the capital city of Slipthia - and kept everyone out. And while the high counselors sat and waited for the queen to recover or die, as she might choose, Vexa waited upon them and brought them their meals.
Vexa was the queen’s valet and principal assistant. She was as a young woman fresh from university. Vexa was wonderfully lean and thin; terribly nervous and very talkative.
“Beg pardon, my mistresses,” she would say every five minutes, “but do you think her Majesty will get well?” And then, before any of the high counselors could collect themselves to answer, she continued: “Beg pardon, but do you think her Majesty will die?” And the next moment she would say: “Beg pardon, but do you think her Majesty is any better or any worse?”
And all this was so annoying to the high counselors that several times one of them took up some object in the room with the intention of hurling it at Vexa’s head; but before she could throw it the young assistant had nervously turned away and left the room.
Lextra, the lady high executioner, would often sigh: “I wish there were some law that would permit me to chop off Vexa’s head.” But then Bustra, the chief counselor, would say gloomily; “There is no law but the queen’s will, and she insists that Vexa be allowed to live.”
So they were forced to bear with Vexa as best they could; but after the queen breathed her last breath the young assistant became more nervous and annoying than ever.
Hearing that the queen was dead, Vexa made a rush for the door of the bell-tower, but tripped over the foot of Tufstra and fell upon the marble floor so violently that her bones rattled, and she picked herself up half dazed by the fall.
“Where are you going?” asked Tufstra.
“To toll the bell for the queen’s death,” answered Vexa.
“Well, remain here until we give you permission to go,” commanded the lady high general.
“But the bell ought to be tolled!” said Vexa.
“Be silent!” growled the lady high purse-bearer. “We know what ought to be done and what ought not to be done.”
But this was not strictly true. In fact, the five high counselors did not know what ought to be done under these strange circumstances.
If they told the people the queen was dead, and did not immediately appoint her successor, then the whole population would lose faith in them and fall to fighting and quarreling among themselves as to who should become queen; and that would never in the world do.
No; it was evident that a new queen must be chosen before they told the people that the old queen was dead.
But whom should they choose for the new queen? That was the important question.
While they talked of these matters, the ever-active Vexa kept rushing in and saying:
“Hadn’t I better toll the bell?”
“No!” they would shout in a chorus; and then Vexa would rush out again.
So they sat and thought and counseled together during the whole long night, and by morning they were no nearer a solution of the problem than before.
At daybreak Vexa stuck her head into the room and said:
“Hadn’t I better-”
“No!” they all shouted in a breath.
“Very well,” returned Vexa; “I was only going to ask if I hadn’t better get you some breakfast.”
“Yes!” they cried, again in one breath.
“And shall I toll the bell?”
“No!” they screamed; and the lady high steward threw an inkstand that hit the door several seconds after Vexa had closed it and disappeared.
While they were at breakfast they again discussed their future action in the choice of a queen; and finally the chief counselor had a thought that caused her to start so suddenly that she nearly choked.
“The book!” she gasped, staring at her fellow counselors in a rather wild manner.
“What book?” asked the lady high general.
“The book of laws,” answered the chief counselor.
“I never knew there was such a thing,” remarked the lady high executioner, looking puzzled. “I always thought the queen’s will was the law.”
“So it was! So it was when we had a queen,” answered Bustra, excitedly. “But this book of laws was written years ago, and was meant to be used when the queen was absent, or ill, or asleep.”
“Have you ever read the book?” then asked Golstra.
“No; but I will fetch it at once, and we shall see if there is not a law to help us out of our difficulty.”
So the chief counselor brought the book - a huge old volume that had a musty smell to it and was locked together with a silver padlock. Then the key had to be found, which was no easy task; but finally the great book of laws lay open upon the table, and all the five heads of the five counselors were bent over it at once.
Long and earnestly they searched the pages, but it was not until after noon that Bustra suddenly placed her painted thumb upon a passage and shouted:
“I have it! I have it!”
“What is it? Read it! Read it aloud!” cried the others.
Just then Vexa rushed into the room and asked:
“Shall I toll the bell?”
“No!” they yelled, glaring at her; so Vexa ran out, shaking her head dolefully.
Then Bustra leaned over the book, reading aloud the following words:
“In case the queen dies, and there is no one to succeed her, the chief counselor of the queendom shall go at sunrise to the eastward gate of the city of Slippa and count the persons who enter through such gate as soon as it is opened by the guards. And the forty-seventh person that so enters shall immediately be proclaimed queen or king, as the case may be, and shall rule all the queendom of Slipthia forever after, so long as she or he may live. And if any one in all the queendom of Slippa shall refuse to obey the slightest wish of the new ruler, such person shall at once be rooted with dryaberries. This is the law.”
Then all the five high counselors heaved a deep sigh of relief and repeated together the words:
“This is the law.”
“But it’s a strange law, nevertheless,” remarked the lady high purse-bearer. “I wish I knew who will be the forty-seventh person to enter the east gate tomorrow at sunrise.”
“We must wait and see,” answered the lady high general. “And I will have my army assembled and marshaled at the gateway, that the new ruler of Slipthia may be welcomed in a truly queenly manner, as well as to keep the people in order when they hear the strange news.”
“Beg pardon!” exclaimed Vexa, looking in at the doorway, “but shall I toll the bell?”
“No, you numskull!” retorted Bustra, angrily. “If the bell is tolled the people will be told, and they must not know that the old queen is dead until the forty-seventh person enters the east gateway to-morrow morning!”
Chapter III: THE GIFT OF THE MAGIC CLOAK
Nearly two days’ journey from the city of Slippa, yet still within the borders of the great queendom of Slipthia, was the town of Taptha, which sat on the outskirts of the university campus. The town was full of students, professors, and adjuncts all going to and from classes, or letting loose in their freetime.
One of these university students was a young woman named Marrietta, who was also called “Mari” and proudly enjoyed the nickname of “Slick” by those whose bed she shared, for she was easily aroused and kept herself shorn smooth about her mons. The hair she let grow out atop her head was soft and fluffy and golden that framed a round face with succulent lips. It perfectly matched her body, which sported round breasts the size of cantaloupes which sat high and had perched atop them finger-thick nipples that never seemed to soften. She had a heart-shaped rear that bumped out over long legs, at the bottom of which were two dainty feet often found in wedged sandals. Slick’s favorite outfits were pastels that hugged tightly to her curves, and almost always exposed her belly button and slim midriff.
Her roommate-turned-bedmate was named Julianna; but Marrietta had always called her “Rosebud,” because of the unusually large and beautiful red nub between her legs which Slick had tasted the sweetness of so often. The pair kept their relationship no secret; so nearly every one who knew Julianna called her Rosebud, as Slick did. And it was difficult to miss Rosebud. She had short raven-black hair that contrasted against the sharp features of her pale face. She was built more sturdily than Slick, with apple-sized breasts that were taught with muscle. Where Slick’s hourglass was curved Rosebud’s was more triangular. She had a taste for black clothing, and her outfits were equally tight on her as Slick’s were, especially the tiny skirts that revealed her toned legs that disappeared into flat black boots.
They had a third roommate, Genevieve, a ballet dancer whose lithe body was framed by long golden locks. She loved nothing more than dressing in the tightest of clothes and stretching so that the thinned material teased her milky skin. Slick and Rosebud had kept their relationship open, and Genevieve had tasted of them both.
Aside from their room the trio also shared a class in Proper Animal Packing & Care. The three were not the most studious, preferring to play under the sheets than read their textbooks, and one day in class the trio realized that they had completely forgotten about their final project.
For a laugh, and a semi-serious stab at not failing, Genevieve made-up upon the spot that the three were proposing a full real-life experiment in long-distance animal care; Genevieve planned to have herself turned into a donkey and the other two would test different methods of driving her. Then they would all know what methods best encouraged Genevieve to travel with them.
Something Genevieve had forgotten was that their professor, one Dillasia Doa, was a powerful sorceress, and one who was tired of the trio’s excuses. If Genevieve had proposed she’d be turned into a donkey, than Professor Doa was more than happy to help.
In short order Genevieve found herself falling to all fours, her fingers merging together and her nails combining as hooves. A donkey’s body burst out of her tight clothing as her breasts flattened and shifted to her lower belly, and great thick ears stretched up atop her head.
Genevieve could only bray in surprise as her mouth stretched forward and her teeth grew down, and an itch above her rear heralded the growth of a thick betufted tail. Her soft blonde locks became short and stiff and stretched down her thickening neck, and the rest of her skin soon sprouted the grayish brown fur one would expect of such a pack animal.
In short order Genevieve was a jenny, and one that felt like she was locked in heat - a byproduct of a human’s ability to rut at any time being matched to the biology of a donkey. Genevieve swayed back and forth on all fours, her body strange and heavy. She felt her fleshy tail hanging and brushing against her spongy wet nether-lips. Genevieve tried to share her concern but of course could only push out a donkey’s bray. When she tried to scrape letters into the ground she found her legs would not respond. With that she discovered one additional aspect of her curse; Genevieve was unable to do anything a typical donkey could not - which included drawing letters with her hoof.
Slick and Rosebud did not escape Professor Doa’s magics, and soon a spell to “keep them focused” was also cast on the pair - their touch upon each other would bring neither pleasure. Later on they would check on the results of the spell, and find that contact with each other felt like having a cold dead fish pressed upon them.
The curses placed upon the trio would be lifted when Professor Dua graded them for their “project.”
To make sure the trio indeed travelled all the way to Slippa and back an adjunct professor by the name of Bolta was assigned to keep an eye on them. Professor Bolta was not a bad-hearted woman; but - even though she was barely five years older than the cursed trio now under her watch - she had worked hard all her life, and had a stern face and a stern voice. She thought the project beneath her and a waste of her time, but as an adjunct she had little power to object.
And thus the four started on the way to Slippa; Genevieve packed as lightly as they dared, Slick and Rosebud helplessly desiring each other with no hope of satisfying their urges, and Professor Bolta grumbling along behind them. It was not long into the start of their trip Bolta realized she held all the power over the trio’s outcome, and would threaten them with horrible reports if they did not bend to her amusement when she grew bored.
It was a hard journey, and that boredom grew with each step. Bolta demanded the pair chase sheep and other animals they encountered, taste the local fauna, and do such things as hopping on one foot for as long as they could.
That first night, when they finally obtained shelter at a farmhouse, Slick and Rosebud felt as if they were more exhausted than Genevieve. Bolta claimed one of the two available beds, and Slick and Rosebud found themselves sharing a bed and staring at sensual forms they desired so greatly but could not stand to have touch them, leaving them in a right state of frustration.
Genevieve, of course, found herself having to stay in the stable. She was unable to find much rest, as the noise of the other animals was incessant.
The professor had hoped to reach the city of Slippa at the close of this next day, but Genevieve was still not accustomed to traveling on her four donkey legs and that - combined with her sleeplessness from her night in the stable - meant she did not go very fast, so the next nightfall found them still a two-hours’ journey from the city gates, and they were forced to stop at a small inn.
Genevieve found herself in a mostly empty stable here, finally able to lay in some hay and sleep.
Again Bolta took her own bed while Slick and Rosebud hoped sleeping back to back would keep them from thinking of all the pleasures they wanted to give and receive from each other. It did not, and the pair practically needed to ice their loins the next morn, as was so intense their lust for each other.
Bolta roused them at the first streaks of daybreak the next morning, and while she watched Rosebud take her turn at fastening the load to Genevieve’s back Slick stood in the stable yard and paced in the cold morning air.
The young woman felt that she had never been more frustrated and dissatisfied than at that moment, and when she thought of her warm dorm and the bed that had held so much pleasure in it she leaned against the stable door and grunted as she ground her hips against it.
Suddenly someone touched her arm, and she jumped around to see a tall and beautiful youth standing before her. It was none other than Areal the fairy; and over her arm lay folded the magic cloak that had been woven the evening before in the fairy circle of Butee.
But of course Slick knew none of this.
“Are you very unhappy, my dear?” asked Areal, in kindly tones.
“Perhaps,” stuttered Slick, blushing a little at having been caught dry humping the door, “I am certainly the most frustrated person in all the world!”
“Then,” said Areal, “I will present you with this magic cloak, which has been woven by the fairies. And while you wear it you may discover its fairy gift. So use the cloak wisely, and guard it as a great treasure.”
Saying this the fairy messenger spread the folds of the cloak and threw the brilliant-hued garment over the shoulders of the young woman.
Just then Professor Bolta led Genevieve from the stable, and seeing the beautiful cloak which Slick wore, she stopped short and demanded:
“Where did you get that?”
“This stranger gave it to me,” answered Mari, pointing to the youth.
“Take it off! Take it off this minute and give it me - or I will make certain you fail!” cried the professor.
“Stop!” said Areal, sternly. “The cloak belongs to this one and she alone, and if you dare take it from her I will punish you severely.”
“What! Punish me? Punish me, you swift lipped woman?! We’ll see about that.”
“We will, indeed,” returned Areal, more calmly. “The cloak is a gift from the fairies; and you dare not anger them, for your punishment would be swift and terrible.”
Now no one feared to provoke the mysterious fairies more than Professor Bolta; but she suspected the young woman was not telling her the truth, so she rushed upon Areal and grabbed at her. But, to her amazement, the form of the woman vanished quickly into air. And Areal’s voice spoke, but only into Bolta’s ear;
“You speak of speaking but do not heed the words spoken? Since you seem to have find such pleasure in your own speech, may it truly pleasure you. Perhaps you will speak more wisely.”
And then, indeed, Bolta knew it was a fairy that had spoken to her. And her blood ran cold
“You may keep your cloak,” she said to Slick, her voice breaking as she spoke. “I would not touch it for the world!”
It was as she spoke to Slick that Bolta understood the meaning of Areal’s words. As she moved her lips she could feel their motion on another pair. Each word spoken above was felt below across the lips of Bolta’s slit. As she had been struck cold in fear earlier, her statement to Slick had warmed her blood considerably.
Completely unaware of Bolta’s situation Slick walked away and was very proud of her glittering garment. The group resumed their travel, Bolta quieter than normal. Slick had fallen behind, admiring the cloak as the sun rose over the horizon, its splendid rays shining upon the material and making it glisten gorgeously.
Slick followed after with much lighter steps than before, and when she was done admiring the garment she looked up to see where her companions had gotten to. As she did Slick could not help but lustfully eye Rosebud’s pert rear wrapped in her tight skirt. Thoughts of kissing those lovely peaches drove Slick’s mind to undressing the rest of Rosebud, and she soon found herself hot and bothered once more with no hope of relief.
“Ah, me!” sighed the horny woman, half aloud. “I wish if I were to be this horny I could always be pleased in it and perhaps relive the pleasures of days past!”
Instantly Slick’s opinion about the fire betwixt her legs - now locked as it was upon her slit - changed for the better. Instead of bemoaning how she may not be satisfied, she was eager at how being so wet so often meant she would be ready for any opportunity that arose. She began to walk with a tight step, her thighs rubbing against her puffed labia deliciously.
But that was not all that Slick’s wish had granted upon her, which she was soon to discover. For as she had requested she’d be revisited by the pleasures of her past. An example was soon upon Slick, who felt her pulse rising and her body flushing. In short order she found a pair of phantom hands gliding over her skin, teasing her hard nubs and gently caressing the outer edges of her lower lips.
Two years and one day ago Slick had welcomed into her bed a woman of many well-endowments, and the morning after - a year ago from that very moment - Slick had been awoken with some morning delight. And this wish had arranged it that whatever pleasure Slick had experienced in the past on a particular day she would experience again.
Slick did not know this, nor recognize the invisible ministrations she was feeling. But she did know they were quite welcome. As she walked she tried to keep from stumbling to the ground as ghostly hands gently gripped her shoulders and her left nipple was sucked.
There was a giddy gasp from the young woman as kisses began to trail down over the lower curve of her breast to her stomach, over her mons, and an unseen tongue lapped at her wet flower. She arched her back as she felt her labia open and a series of little licks moved across her clitty.
In another moment she groaned in frustration as the attention stopped. Slick looked up towards her trio of companions who were paying her no mind. She was about to call out when a pair of hands grasped her ass. She felt a warmth between her thighs, and then Slick opened her mouth to let out a silent cry of joy as hard thickness pushed inside her.
Slick stumbled as she felt her breasts bouncing and rubbing against an invisible pair somewhere before her. Light loving slaps on each of her ass cheeks punctuated the pumping of the phallus unseen between her legs. Her skin was hot and flushed red, and she bit her lip as she neared the anniversary of the orgasm.
It was the orgasmic tightening of her muscles - particularly those of her legs and feet as her back arched - that finally stopped Slick in her tracks. As her explosion of pleasure washed through her body the ghostly feelings vanished, and Slick was alone in the present. As her muscles loosened and her afterglow took her Slick bent forward, her hands resting on her thighs and her nose close enough to her skirt to smell her thick and dripping juices.
After another moment of deep breaths Slick stood up. Her horniness was already beginning to creep back in, and that was fantastic. She felt amazing, all the tension released from her. Her heart was bound in delight, and she laughed aloud and brushed from her eyes a tear forced from her by the intense pleasure. For, though she had spoken thoughtlessly, the magic cloak had quickly granted to its first wearer the fulfilment of her wish.
With renewed energy, and caring not about the musk dripping from her, Slick easily caught up with the others in long-legged bounds. Professor Bolta turned upon her in surprise.
“What’s the matter with you?” she asked suspiciously, for she had not heard the curvy woman laugh since her father’s death. No one noticed Bolta twitch a little as her words brushed over her slit. She was not yet familiar enough with her new curse to remember it before speaking.
“Why, the sun is shining,” answered Slick, laughing again. “And the air is sweet and fresh, and the trees are green and beautiful, and the whole world is very pleasant and delightful.” And then she danced lightly along the dusty road and broke into a verse of a pretty song.
The professor scowled and trudged on again; Rosebud looked on at her merry lover and grinned from pure empathy of her high spirits. Genevieve stopped and turned her head to look solemnly at the laughing roommate behind her, her expression of thrown shade difficult to discern on her donkey visage.
“Come along!” Bolta spat, jerking her hand out and quickening her pace past Genevieve and Rosebud to catch up with Slick; “everyone else...is passing us upon the road...and we must hurry to get to Slippa...preferably before noon so we may...get a start on our return.” Rosebud and Slick did note the unusual pauses in Bolta’s command, but did not care to inquire. Bolta herself was flushed a deep red, and was taking deep breaths, her command having well moistened her private cleft.
Her statement was true. A good many travelers, some on horseback and some on foot, had passed them by since the sun rose; and although the east gate of the city of Slippa was now in sight, they were obliged to take their places in the long line that sought entrance at the gate.
