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The Princess

and her

Lost Innocence


Seeded by her Pet Gryphon


Alis Mitsy





The princess moaned and pushed her hips up to her pet gryphon’s tongue, skin quivering with desire. The beast, clad in snow-white feathers that symbolised a purity he surely did not embody, crooned into her sex, lifting his head to lick her arousal from the edges of his beak. She rolled her head, fingers curling into the dirt as the reeds towered on all sides, the lap and ripple of the lake a musical undercurrent to her introduction to the pleasures of the body. But why had he stopped? Marcela trembled and stretched out a shaky hand to him, rich, fertile soil clinging to her bare palm.


“Please...”


There were no other words that she could impart that could possibly convey to her pet that she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted any of the human suitors her father had presented to her. But Stormchill was no suitor. He was a beast and still knew more of the ways of pleasure than any mere human.


Yet he was a gryphon that knew of his pleasure too. Marcela couldn’t have told anyone what he’d been put to in the breeding pens, but the gryphon knew what he had to do, what this strange female wanted of him. Stepping over her, he keened softly and rocked his hindquarters, slapping his ridged cock up against his own furred stomach.


Marcela didn’t think as she clung to his foreleg, pressing her face into the strong, defined limb rippling with muscle. His feathers were silken against her cheek above the join where his feathers melded seamlessly into avian talons and she surprised herself with her own whimper, the tip of his cock slipping against her soaked pussy lips. She didn’t have to ask herself if she wanted him: her body did the talking for her.


As Stormchill pushed into his owner’s needy pussy, Marcela swallowed her moans, the rustle of the reeds singing sweetly of her deflowering as her pet took her virginity. Stretching out the entrance to her virgin passage, Stormchill huffed shallowly through his nares and dipped his head down to hers. His large, round eyes were half-lidded as he did what instinct told him to do and drove the tapered tip of his cock a little deeper, taking his new hen as he pleased.


Marcela groaned, clenching her jaw as the wind picked up, a cool lick of air across her bare skin.


What was that she’d heard about gryphons getting humans pregnant?


*


Marcela smiled, wafting serenely along the palace promenade with a light spring breeze lifting her curled blonde hair up from the back of her neck. Wisps of gauzy, blue fabric drifted around her body, tucked in at her elbows and knees in the traditional harem style, while solid shapes covered her dignity beneath the meagre covering. While the outfit showed off her form, young and prime for marriage, it retained her modesty in a way that pleased her, her step light in the open-toed sandals that completed her look. Her father often tried to persuade her to wear dresses – something more formal and becoming of a princess – but she turned up her nose at each and every one. What was the point of being a princess if she couldn’t even wear what she wanted to?


She took a deep breath, lungs expanding with crisp, fresh air. The sun shone across the palace grounds, the lake twinkling invitingly in the sharp, clear light as spring brought fresh life to a land that had wallowed in winter. It was the season for new beginnings and Marcela couldn’t possibly imagine that the warm months ahead could bring anything but good fortune for a princess living a life of leisure.


Her pet gryphon followed at her heels, growling and snapping at any other visitors to the palace who may have otherwise strayed a little too close for comfort, seeking the princess' attention through any means possible. The size of a comfortably formed riding pony, he clicked the tip of his grey beak and pawed at the ground, neck arched as he fanned out his white wings. The smallest flecks of black dotted his feathers sporadically, but could only be seen if the gryphon allowed a curious onlooker into his personal space. Marcela rested her hand on his back, letting his warmth seep into her cool palm. He was a better bodyguard than any human and kept others at a comfortable distance, which was all she wanted on her morning wanders.


Smiling, Marcela clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. He turned to look at her, amber eyes sharp and intelligent. What would she ever have done without him? Scratching down his spine, she pursed her lips, seeking out his favourite spot to be groomed and, when she found it, the gryphon crooned dozily and stretched out his whole body, openly begging for more. She giggled.


But the morning was not all to be serene and the princess stiffened, shoulders taut and tipping forward as if to round in a most unladylike way. A gentleman in finely tailored trousers and a crisp shirt open far enough down the chest to show a curl of dark hair strode towards her with confidence in his stride and his hands thrust deep into his pockets. The smile on his lips told a different tale, not reaching far enough to bring spring warmth to his calculating brown eyes.


Marcela reminded herself to breathe.


“Stormchill,” she whispered, calling his attention by his name alone. “Stormchill, stay near.”


The gryphon cocked his head to the side and butted it lightly into her shoulder as if to say that he understood. Puffing himself up, he fluffed up his wings as if he was going to take flight and lunge forward at any moment, attention riveted on the potential threat. To his credit, the man stopped at a safe distance, cheekbones tense even if his lips did not once waver from his perfectly balanced smile.


Spreading his hands out to either side of his torso, chest narrowing down to a tight midsection hard with muscle, the young man chuckled lightly, lips parted and pink in the light breeze. There was not a single hint of wear or work on his hands, moisturised and cared for no doubt by a selection of his many servants. If she had not been in company, Marcela would have rolled her eyes.


“Marcela, what a pleasure to see you out on the promenade, this glorious spring day.”


The princess’ lips turned down in the tiniest of frowns.


“Of course. It is always a delight to see you in my palace, Geranto. Though what has brought you out to the promenade? I would have thought you would have taken a selection of your flock hunting on such a day?”


He smiled more widely, Geranto’s fingers tucking themselves into his pockets, but leaving the thumbs protruding over the edge as if he still wanted to keep his hands free.


“No, the deer will see us coming from miles away – there’s no sport in not bringing home a haunch of venison for the table. There’s always a greater pleasure in dining on meat you have slain yourself, is there not?”


Marcela leaned in to Stormchill to hide the shiver running down her spine.


“I would not know, Geranto, as I am not part of your hunts.”


She swallowed hard and forced the words out woodenly.


“I am sure, however, that it is a perfectly pleasant day out.”


There, that would be good enough. Geranto smiled, showing his teeth, and Marcela strove not to shudder away as he looked her up and down, clearly undressing her with his eyes. Her eyes narrowed at the corners. Had he no sense of time and place? As if she would ever allow such a slimy toad of a man to take her hand in marriage regardless!


“That beast of yours would do better out on the hunts than tucked up at your side, princess,” he continued, as if not understanding that he had long outstayed his welcome already. “We need more strong bloodlines running through our flock. I’m surprised the king has not secluded him away to the breeding pens as yet. He truly is wasted up here as a mere pet on a leash.”


As if knowing that he was being spoken about, Stormchill levelled his gaze with Geranto’s, staring the man down until he rubbed his forearm and averted his eyes. Privately, Marcela smirked, running her fingers down the gryphon’s neck and crooning softly to him. Although she knew that he heard her sweet murmurs of praise, the gryphon did not waver from the task at hand of keeping the unwanted male away from the female he had been trained to guard.



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