the-princess-ho

Once upon a time in a land of milk and honey, a beautiful young Princess lived in the warmth of her father’s love.  She was a girl of generous heart, as free as the wee blue birds which sailed the breezes of their lovely home, and the King could deny her nothing.

And because she was such a glad, giving soul, the beautiful young Princess became a ho.

She was not a bad girl.  But oh, how she loved the feeling of a good stiff one, and oh, how she adored having her soft blonde bush petted and stroked.

Only when the King summoned her to his throne and sat before her, head bowed, did she realize something was wrong.

“My darling daughter,” he said slowly.  “It has come to my attention that you are a ho.”

“Why yes, Father.  That I am.”

He looked very sad indeed.  “This will never do.  Have I not loved you, treasured you as my own sweet little bird?  You have been with every man in the kingdom!”

Her eyes filled with tears that she should ever cause him such grief.  “But Father!  I am a very GOOD ho!  Not once has a single subject complained.”

“It is inappropriate for one who is to be queen!”

“I have no wish to be queen, my King.  Nor even a Princess if I must surrender my joy.  I just wanna be a ho.”

The king’s brow clouded, and a gloom descended over the kingdom.  “I have heard enough, little bird.”

“Father, you do not understand,” she persisted.  “Nothing on earth brings me greater pleasure than having a man stroke my silky but impudent bush, probe my—“

“Hold your tongue!” the King cried, horrified.  “I have the cure for this.  I have promised you in marriage to the young Prince in the Next Kingdom.  There you will behave yourself and become a proper wife.”

With all haste and secrecy, the Princess was escorted from her home by a small army of able men.  No one would ever know the anguish in her heart as she traveled the long days to the Next Kingdom.  Only by entertaining the troops did the brave, selfless girl survive the journey.

Her heart soared when she met the young Prince, handsome and virile beyond belief.  However, he greeted her with a stern eye and angry voice.

“So you are the wee bird I am to wed.  Your men tell me you are a ho.”

“That I am, my Prince,” she whispered, unable to meet his gaze.  “But for you I am willing to be true.”

“You do not deserve the royal man-root,” he sniffed.  “But as you must be my bride, I will grant you the honor of fondling the sovereign balls instead.  Only thus may you pleasure me.”

That evening, when they retired, the Prince was astonished by how well she rang the royal bells.  Still, he denied the Princess the honor of the real family jewel, deeming her unworthy.  But night after night he came to her chamber, allowing her to take his balls in both hands with her masterful touch.

Finally, weary of cold baths and aroused beyond belief, he decided he must have her all.  Humbling himself at her bedside, he gently stroked her baby-soft bush and buried himself inside.  Astonished by her aptitude, he thanked the gods for the experience she had garnered with oh so many men and stroked her until the thin, gray hours of morn.  “My Queen,” he murmured gently.  “How could I have denied myself?  This is the sweetest pleasure of all.”

And for the rest of their lives together, he could deny her nothing.

Moral of the story?

A bird with a bush beats two in the hand.