"Something that will come very easy to a satyr," said Malpurgo simply, "you must fuck!"
"Who's the lucky lady?" asked Vulkan quickly. The mere mention of the sex act making the thickened twist of cock flesh once again writhe between his thighs as if with a will of its own.
"Queen Amariza and her daughter the Princess Flamia and all the other ladies of child bearing age in the royal household of the Kingdom of Dashane," said the wizard. His voice became almost hushed as he considered the appalling scope of his coming revenge.
"You will scourge and despoil them all, impregnating each with a litter of malignant imps that will grow to overrun and destroy Good King Leopold's royal dynasty for ever!"
Vulkan grinned lasciviously as he visualised the task ahead.
"May I ask what Leopold has done to so earn your enmity my master?"
Malpurgo sat down in a large throne like chair carved from an ancient block of dense, dark wood and smiled almost pleasantly at his creation.
"Two summers ago Dashane's northern borders were plagued by nomad raiders who struck deep into the rich cantons of Muck, Haldane and Showa; murdering, raping and plundering. Always they struck at night and by the time Leopold's knights would arrive, the raiders were always long gone, disappeared into the mountains from whence they came. Leopold appealed to me to use my powers to divine the secret hiding places of the nomads, saying that I could name my own reward if I served him truly, which I did and he led a great campaign to wipe them out. When the King returned victorious, I duly attended his Court and applied for payment in the form of the hand of his daughter the Princess Flamia."
Malpurgo grimaced at the still bitter memories.
"Leopold refused, saying that I was attempting to trick him to demand such a precious prize. Whilst the Queen publically branded me a pervert and a fool and ordered the guards to flog me out of the palace. And so it transpired, with the young Flamia and all of the assembled nobles of the court laughing and scoffing at me."
The wizard's smile was corpse-like as he relived the disagreeable encounter.
"On that day, confident Leopold's largesse, I had neglected to forearm myself with sufficient care and my magic failed to save me – a mistake I will never make again."
The wizard shook his head as if to banish the memory for good.
"You, my royal prince, will teach Leopold's court the true meaning of perversion, foolishness and pain in full measure."
"Where are my men," asked the prince, "I had a dozen hand picked men at arms in my escort."
The wizard gestured absently, as if the matter were of no consequence.
"Gone back to your flatulent father with their tails between their legs. Doubtless spewing forth some cock and bull story about how they were overcome by insurmountable odds and robbed of his precious taxes," the wizard smirked, "I doubt that old Harken will shed any tears over your disappearance my disappointing prince, although the loss of his tribute will probably cost your men dear."
At a signal from the wizard, the ever-present grulls stumped forward and unfastened Vulkan's many bindings. The prince stepped down from the table and flexed his newly acquired musculature, his hand going automatically to grip the huge phallus. Without a trace of self-consciousness the satyr pumped his fist up and down the length of rapidly solidifying meat in front of the watching wizard and his dim witted grulls. Masturbating hugely until the desperately needed orgasm crashed through his rippling belly, hurling countless fierce pulses of red-hot semen high into the air. The changeling collapsed to his knees grunting harshly, the tightly bunched shoulder muscles shaking violently as he continued feverishly milking the final exquisite sensations from the quivering cock.
And whilst Prince Vulkan sat crouched over his throbbing member, the air in the sepulchral chamber was rent over and over by the harsh, cackling laughter of the Arch Thaumaturge, Lord Malpurgo of Gliss.
Prince Vulkan stood dressed in a suit of glittering mail and plate armour that served to gird and accentuate his new and powerful frame. At his side, a broad sword fashioned by Malpurgo himself, hung in a finely tooled leather and brass scabbard. The prince accepted a fur-collared cloak from one of the ubiquitous grulls before mounting his warhorse. Once in the saddle Vulkan walked his snorting steed over to where the wizard waited on a first floor balcony.
"The Kingdom of Dashane cherishes fighting prowess above all else," the wizard told him, "in little over a week, at the midsummer festival called to celebrate Princess Flamia's sixteenth birthday, many brave knights and all manner of princelings from both minor and major houses will congregate to fight for her hand in marriage. In my laboratory, I have used the powerful Crystal of Pesch and my sorcerer's skills to give you the stature, physical strength and speed of reflex to best them all and claim the young Flamia. When you win the contest, Leopold will be honour bound by ancient custom to accept you as his prospective son-in-law and take you into the palace. Once inside, you will have all of the time you need to reek the full measure of my revenge upon them all."
The prince leant forward in his saddle. "Fear not my lord wizard, for I swear that I shall fuck all that are willing and ravage all that are not and at the end of my time in Leopold's palace there will not be one blue blooded lady who has not felt the full length of my great cock in all her intimate passages and the harsh caress of my scourge across her back."
"But remember!" Malpurgo counselled Vulkan to caution, "whilst more than a match for any handful of skilled men-at-arms in open combat you are not invulnerable. Find yourself trussed and helpless on the headsman's block, or caught up in a burning hayrick with a loose-legged goose girl and you will die like any lesser man. Disguise your sybaritic appetites from public view at all times. Use the mental routines I have taught you to control your urges. Masturbate as little as possible as such empty stimulation will only serve to agitate your mood, for only women's flesh can assuage your carnality. In the small chest are powders and potions that will help you subjugate, confuse and kill; I have planted knowledge within your psyche so that you will know how to use them when needed."
So without further ado, the lone prince cantered out over the drawbridge and spurred his coal black steed toward the distant ribbon of hills beyond which lay the wealthy and fabulous realm of Dashane.
Malpurgo visited the buxom serving wench he had previously put to Prince Vulkan each morning for three days following the satyr's departure. On the first morning, he found the woman tossing and turning on her narrow bed in the grip of a ferocious fever, her body flushed and running with perspiration as she battled with violent delirium.
On the second, her fever had broken and she lay comatose. The sluggish rise and fall of her chest almost indiscernible, even to his expert eye as her exhausted body struggled to recover itself.
On the third, Malpurgo entered the cell to find the woman once again sweating and febrile, but now her hazel eyes were clear, bright, and filled with a fierce intensity as she looked at him. This time cause of her fever was very different from that of the first day.
"Where is he?" she demanded, rising up as far as her wrist and ankle chains would allow. Her bitten and bruised body squirmed fretfully as she ground her broad rump into the straw filled mattress.
"Bring him to me, I need to feel his great cock inside me now!"
Malpurgo placed his hand lightly upon the wench's upraised knee. It took only the merest touch to make her thighs fall wide open, a soft hiss of anticipation escaping her lips as she exposed the sopping, overheated vulva with its turgescent labia gaping slackly and the clitoris, thickened and standing proud – aching for stimulation.
Malpurgo dipped his fingers into the steaming tropic; his smile broadening as the woman pushed her pelvis steeply upward, grunting huskily as the wizard reamed the entrance to her vagina with his long, thin fingers.
After a few moments, Malpurgo removed his hand from the wench's sucking sex and reached over to release the shackle restraining her right wrist. Instantly, she wrenched her hand free and plunged her fingers into herself, ramming in all four digits in up to the palm. The wench moaned desperately, her belly pumping in and out as she forced the solid width of her knuckles past the entrance until only her thumb remained on the outside of her cunt to massage the bulging clitoris.
Malpurgo beamed in a dread sort of approval as he reached into his robe and withdrew a length of dark green kracx horn, intricately carved by some long forgotten artisan to represent a huge curving phallus. The wizard hefted the solid length in his palm and smirked down at the straining woman, saying sarcastically.
"His Royal Highness Prince Vulkan apologises for his absence and asked if I would give you this until he returns."
The wench withdrew her hand from her streaming sex and snatched the dildo from the wizard. She plunged the thickened length into herself, puffing out her cheeks in a loud gust of appreciation as she began to ram the dildo in and out. Desperately seeking to emulate the monumental thrusting she had experienced from the rapacious prince.
Malpurgo watched patiently until the wench screamed and shook with her fourth consecutive orgasm before turning to leave the tiny chamber. The sinister, vulpine countenance uplifted after witnessing the confirmation of the final aspect of his terrible plan – the wench was infected with the satyr's hellish gift… Nymphomania!
After five long days in the saddle, Prince Vulkan crested a rise to find himself looking down into a gently wooded vale through which ran the ancient, meandering roadway that lead into the Kingdom of Dashane.
As he reconnoitred, his attention was immediately drawn to a small group of armed men surrounding a coach, that had been run off the hard packed dirt track into the shade of some low, spreading trees. Here and there, the bodies of the escorting troopers lay strewn in awkward death postures and from behind the coach came the ringing clangs of sword on sword as the last of the defenders was cornered and slaughtered.
Unhurriedly, Vulkan drew the telescope out of his saddlebag and raised it to his eye. The heretofore-unknown device was only one of the many remarkable accoutrements with which the amazing Malpurgo had supplied him.
From his vantage point he watched as the half dozen surviving attackers began to ransack the vast array of luggage piled high atop the grand looking carriage. Vulkan was about to turn away when he heard the unmistakable, high pitched cry of a lady in fear of her chastity, issue from within the darkened interior of the coach. Another ruffian, presumably the leader, was taking his pleasure with the unknown passenger the prince reasoned.
At the thought of the rape in progress, Vulkan's mighty cock gave a lurch inside his breeches. The enforced celibacy of the past five days suddenly weighed heavily upon him, making his belly feel painfully hollow.
Moving swiftly now that his mind was made up, Vulkan put the looking glass away, slipped his shield on to his left arm, and snatched up one of his short lances in his right hand. He spurred his horse down the hillside, guiding the powerful animal with deft touched of his knees as he slalomed purposefully between the intervening trees.
The robbers were so engrossed in sorting through their booty that they failed to hear Vulkan's lightening fast approach until he was almost on top of them. As the first to realise the danger leapt up, Vulkan veered his mount sharply to the side and crashed the full weight of the stallion into him, sending the man flying through the air to dash himself against one of the huge, iron rimmed coach wheels – instantly snapping his spine. Simultaneously, Vulkan thrust the point of his lance into the next nearest man who was still on his knees, transfixing him to the ground beneath with the sheer force of the strike. As he wheeled around all of the remaining, men were now up on their feet, howling with rage and alarm and casting desperately about for their discarded weapons. However, Vulkan gave then no quarter. He spurred the stallion savagely, bursting in amongst them, his sword flashing in great circles to left and right as he lopped off hands and arms and delivered cleaving blows to heads and shoulders.
The action lasted barely twenty seconds and as he dismounted, the leader of the brigands appeared in the doorway of the coach, a wicked looking dagger clenched between his bared teeth, his fingers desperately trying to drag up and fasten his breeches as he surveyed the amazing carnage.
With casual, unconscious skill, Vulkan drew and threw his heavy dirk in one fluid motion, so that it appeared as if by magic with a solid thud, buried up to the hilt in the bandit's chest. The luckless recipient blew out his final breath in sad grunt of surprise before slowly pitching out on to the grass beneath.
Vulkan clambered up into the coach in time to see the single female occupant drawing her voluminous skirts back down over a pair of extremely shapely thighs. However, not before he had seen the succulent lips of her recently vacated vulva pouting invitingly and glistening with the sheen of the now dead rapist's jism.
"I am in your debt My Lord," the woman gushed somewhat breathlessly, "my cousin, The King, will richly reward you for your valour this day." She quickly finished fluffing her skirts and calmly seated herself on one of the plushly upholstered benches.
Vulkan fought desperately to control his impulses. The unexpected combat had driven him half mad with blood lust. In addition, the sight of the noblewoman's cunt dripping with love juice and the heady smell of sex within the tiny confines of the coach were overpowering to his highly attuned senses.
Reluctantly, he dragged his fierce gaze out of her lap to look at her face for the first time and was powerless to suppress a soft, sough of approval forcing itself from his lips. The woman was nonpareil! A vision of pale skinned, red headed loveliness. Obviously wealthy and impeccably well bred – and what was that she had said about the King?