The Jabberwock's Treasure

by taiyakisoba

When the proud but lonely Jabberwock Vorpal kidnaps the daughter of a stuck-up ruler for the Queen of Hearts, she quickly finds the treasure she's been tasked with guarding too precious to part with...

The Princess in the High Tower

Breaking through the walls of the castle was the easy part. Vorpal's claws made quick work of the brick and masonry, like a child burrowing a questing hand into a sandcastle, and she tore her way inside. The soldiers had been alerted, of course. Around a dozen ran across the square from the guardhouse, joined by others from the bases of the castle's many towers, all dressed in red and gold, the livery of the Regency of Alfor.

Vorpal sighed. She brought the full height of her body to bear, unfurling her leathery wings, her crest bristling, her long tail whipping the air. For a moment she remembered the time when she had been a true dragon, before her transformation. Then, she had flown the skies, a terror to humans and other monsters alike, unstoppable, despite all the heroes sent against her. In another time, she would have been smashing into a castle to despoil it of its gold and jewels, to add to her precious hoard.

But that was in the past.

A jabberwock now, she was still an object of fear, though perhaps of a different kind. The soldiers, poor pitiable creatures, came to a halt a good number of feet away from her and looked at each other, none of them eager to be the first to engage her.

Vorpal drew in a great breath, her ample chest heaving. Then she breathed out – but not the fire of old. No, this was just another of the strange changes that the Queen of Hearts' magic had worked on her body. Thick pink mist, glowing, pungent with the sweet scent of sugar and musk and fairy-floss, flowed over the armed column in a wave.

The soldiers fell writhing to the ground and Vorpal chuckled to herself. This form still felt unfamiliar in a lot of ways, even so many years after her transformation, but one could not argue with its effectiveness.

The soldiers pulled at their armour, stripping themselves of it, greaves and cuirasses and jerkins all. Then half-naked they fell on each other with hungry mouths and hands. The Regency employed both male and female soldiers, but the pink mist of the jabberwock's breath brought with it such uncontrollable lust that those under its influence cared little whether the gender of their partners coincided with their usual desires.

Vorpal sniffed and turned her back on the writhing, panting pile, then with a single sweep of her powerful wings she was across the square. Yes, that was the tower Dovedale the Cheshire Cat had spoken of. She wrenched the door clear off its hinges, locks and all. Foolish to show the way to your most precious possession by covering the doors with such puny defences, capable of hindering only human threats!

With half-flaps, half-leaps, she scaled the great curving stair. She met with more soldiers, but those who did not immediately flee from her received a blast of her sweet pink breath. Vorpal brushed them aside, but not before the smiling mouths of her tentacles sought to wrap themselves lasciviously around their lust-filled and writhing bodies.

Vorpal's body suddenly twinged with a familiar, frustrating ache, but she pushed it away angrily. Of all the changes to her body, this insatiable desire was the most annoying. Other jabberwocks took pride in the intensity of their lewdness, the uncontrollable need of their lust. But for Vorpal, who had once been a dragon, the feelings were unwelcome. A proud daughter of the dragon race, reduced to a slobbering, lowly creature? Her new sisters, of course, did not see it that way. They looked at their lewdness as the source of great dignity and took delight in being the most lascivious of the monsters of Wonderland.

Ah, but that was the thing, wasn't it? Those were the rules of Wonderland and Vorpal had lived outside of the mysterious demon realm most her life. If she hadn't stumbled upon that strange door, been tempted to see what was on the other side, thinking that there was treasure hidden there…

The treasure. Of course. She must not get distracted.

She tossed aside another soldier and came at last to the final door atop the tower. More locks, but these she peeled off with her claws delicately. She could not just tear the door away like before – she might damage the treasure waiting within.

She stuck a claw in the final lock, prised it out and then slowly pushed the door open.

Candlelight within. A bedroom, walls decorated with lavish tapestries and crossed swords and shields, filled from corner to corner with exquisite wooden furniture – a dresser, a great many wardrobes, a bookcase, a suit of armour beside it – but most gorgeous of all was the great four-poster bed in the centre of the room, draped with pale blue silks. A sleeping body made a mound beneath the coverlet – a long, slender body, topped with a mass of long blonde hair which lay across its lace pillow, as gold as the exquisite embroidery of the coverlet. The top half of the mound rose gently with the rising of breath. Good. She had not woken her.

The Princess of Alfor. Yes, Dovedale had been most descriptive.

"You must be gentle, Vorpal my darling. She is sought by the Queen of Hearts, after all, and must be treated like the most precious pearl. The Queen wishes her to be brought to Wonderland in all her pure, untouched beauty, with not a single golden hair unplaced."

Vorpal had been surprised by the request. "But what does the Queen want with the Princess?"

Dovedale giggled. "Why, I was sure you knew the story, darling! Weren't you a denizen of the human world for so very long? But perhaps the story is only well-known here in Wonderland. Well, the Regess of Alfor has long been famous for her hatred of lewdness of every kind. Abandoned by her lover, she was, poor thing, and since that day she has hated even the thought of the joys of sex. Why, she even went so far as to enact an edict that no citizen of her country is permitted to perform any sexual act beyond..." – and here the Cheshire Cat giggled again – "….beyond the position where the female lies prone beneath the male, and they may not do so for pleasure but merely for the begetting of children! And even then no more than once a month!"

Vorpal frowned at the look of melodramatic shock on the Cheshire Cat's face. Was the thought of going a whole month without having sex truly so terrible? And surely it was a delight best left for one's husband...

Dovedale continued. "The Regess' unwholesome purity and arrogance have long displeased the Queen of Hearts. And so she wishes to teach her a lesson."

"Her daughter," said Vorpal. "Dovedale, I don't wish to refuse the Queen's order, but if the child is going to be harmed..."

The Cheshire Cat's slitted amethyst eyes went wide in shock, both at the thought of someone refusing an order from the Queen of Hearts and that such an order would be murderous in intent. "No, no, no, my darling. Set your heart at rest! The Queen merely wishes to mould the child into a creature of supreme lewdness. She will be returned to her kingdom, unharmed, and show her people and her mother the foolishness of refusing their natural lewd desires." Her lunate grin reappeared, twice as large. "Since you became a jabberwock, have you not found life so much more fulfilling?"

"Well," said Vorpal and she left it at that. She did not wish to attempt explaining to such a flighty creature as a Cheshire Cat the complexities of her situation. Of course she desired sex and was susceptible to erotic feeling… her body was designed for just that. But every time she had been tempted to ravish a lost traveller or other incautious human, something had held her back.

Was it just that she was afraid?

No, it was not that. She was not afraid of men! If anything, men were afraid of her.

Maybe she was just too picky.

Her pride flashed up. No! It was just that she had not yet met one who could match her. Would she become a simpering she-lizard for some peasant or simpleton just because of the hardness between their legs? Never!

And so she had of course accepted the duty placed on her by the Queen. She had no way of refusing, really, but it suited her pride to feel that she was the one who had made the decision. The Cheshire Cat had been delighted and told her of the details of the mission….

….and so here she was now. The treasure. The Princess of Alfor. Her goal.

Vorpal stepped carefully up to the side of the bed, her claws clicking against the floorboards. She took hold of the hem of the duvet and slowly drew it down.

The princess' face was still hidden by the wealth of her golden hair, but her slender body was revealed, covered by a thin night dress, all except for her limbs – her hands clasped at her breast, bed-warm pink, long smooth legs of the same peach-like colour.

Vorpal watched her sleeping. She was so peaceful, and so beautiful, too. She willed her to move, to reveal her face, and by some miracle with a gentle murmur she did, turning her head. The halo of her golden hair parted and her gentle sleeping face appeared. Her eyes were beautiful even shut, the long lashes laid black against the paleness of her smooth high cheekbones. The little curved cupid's-bow of a mouth parted as she breathed.

Truly a delicate beauty. Vorpal sighed. Perhaps the Queen of Hearts was right. To have such a delight trapped in this high tower, never allowed to marry or to feel the joy of a lover's embraces and the delight of children as beautiful as herself was a dreadful sin. She would no doubt make an exquisite succubus or some similarly aristocratic monster.

The princess murmured again. Vorpal realised she had come too close and no doubt the heat of her own body, the soft kiss of her breath was disturbing her.

Noise from below. More soldiers? Possibly the Regess had returned earlier from her hunt than Vorpal had expected.

She leaned down. She must do this gently or else…

Shouts came from below, and with them the clattering of arms.

The princess's eyes flashed open. They were blue, impossibly blue, like a sunlit bay, somehow captured here in her face. Her mouth opened too in a gasp, a gasp building to a scream.

Vorpal knew then there was no longer any time for gentleness. She threw a tentacle over the princess' mouth and with her claws she lifted her up beneath the knees and shoulders.

Then with a lunge of her tail she smashed out the wall around the window and with a sweep of her leathery wings she surged her powerful body through the dust and shattered mortar and out into the night air.

In her arms the princess struggled.

Vorpal leaned close. "Don't try and escape you silly creature. We're flying now, and if you manage to get free your beautiful self will fall four hundred feet to a certain and messy death."

Vorpal felt the girl gasp against her gently constricting tentacle and she stopped struggling, although she still shivered. Vorpal immediately regretted her cruel words and said, "You will not be harmed. I've been asked to escort you to meet the Queen of Wonderland, a request your mother would not allow and which has forced our current situation."

The girl seemed to understand. Her shivering grew less and she clung on, now, to Vorpal as she flew.

Hands. Such soft, gentle hands, even though they gripped her tightly.

Vorpal flushed. The princess smelled warm and sweet, like freshly laundered linen.

Those eyes. Looking up at her.

Vorpal flew on. Her lair was not far away.

---

Vorpal watched the slender body on the couch shift and murmur. Ah, the princess was not long off waking.

The delicate creature had been asleep when Vorpal had arrived back at her lair. She'd been surprised and amused to find the princess's eyes closed, her lips slightly open, her chest gently rising and falling in her arms. Vorpal had thought she was faking to begin with, that she would take off at a run as soon as she let go of her, and so as she placed her on the couch she'd been ready to snatch her up if she tried anything. Her big claws were so perfect for catching after all.

But the girl hadn't been faking. Either through exhaustion of the flight or more likely through the stress of her kidnapping, she'd nodded off part way. Vorpal had laid down on her own bed, the great mound of gold and silver coins and glittering jewels she'd had collected over the years, and watched her. No, the princess was not faking. She slept hard and deep.

But in the cool of Vorpal's underground lair, she'd begun to shiver so the jabberwock had placed a fleece on top of her. She'd done it gently, worried she would wake her, disturb that angelic look of peace she was so envious of. Also, Vorpal was relieved she was still asleep. She had dreaded the thought of wrestling the girl, threatening her to keep her from trying to escape. Vorpal did not much relish that kind of conflict, the sort with tears, shouting and recriminations, a conflict that couldn't be solved with the slash of a claw or the sweep of a tail.

The princess shifted again, revealing her face. Vorpal felt a flutter in her chest. She really was beautiful. A classic, aristocratic beauty. So slender she could be snapped in half in one claw, no doubt, with pale skin and hair almost as pale. And those eyes! Vorpal had seen just a moment of them open, and they had stared at her in fear. But perhaps the fear had made them all the more beautiful.

Her fine gold hair fell over her face and Vorpal was struck by the desire to get up and brush it to one side. The thought annoyed her, and the annoyance quickly teetered into anger. Why had the Queen entrusted her with such a trivial task? Surely a Cheshire Cat could have done the same. Why disturb her? Her neighbours in Wonderland knew she preferred her own company. That's why she'd set up her lair so far from the others in the forest, on the very edge of Wonderland.

But perhaps that was not the truth of it. Perhaps she missed being a dragon.

And perhaps Dovedale was right. Perhaps she should stop struggling against her situation and learn to enjoy it.

She glanced back at the princess. Ah, but a boy around her age, with her looks, would have made an excellent captive. She was no doubt still a virgin. As a boy she would have been irresistible, a true prize worthy of such effort.

Vorpal's heart beat faster. Oh, why was she thinking about this now? Her body always betrayed her. Lewdness lay never far under the surface. She grimaced at the tingling pressure growing below her waist.

Yes, a boy like this princess. A prince, gold-haired and pale skinned and gentle of face. One rarely met a human of that sort wondering into Wonderland. Mostly, such exquisite prizes fell to monster girls far more experienced in their demonic ways.

Vorpal had come across Dovedale with such a one, once. The boy had been young, just on the cusp of manhood like this princess. The Cheshire cat had been astride him, bouncing her voluptuous body up and down. She hadn't even taken the time to strip herself and had merely pulled the crotch of her garment aside. Her tail twisting, her wide mouth open and drooling as she yowled with pleasure, the boy's hands around her waist, his beautiful eyes boggling with disbelief as the cat-girl rode him over and over again.

Dovedale's huge amethyst eyes had fallen open and seen Vorpal staring, and her lewdly moist lips had burst into a wide grin.

"Oh, my dearest Vorpal! Look at what I found just wandering the forest." She'd gasped, then, as the boy began thrusting with increasing zeal. "Why – ah! Why don't you come and join us?"

Vorpal had for a dark moment considered it. Wasn't that the way a jabberwock was supposed to behave? She could just join them and... and then, after the Cheshire Cat had made him hers, she could have her own turn. Her pink breath and her mouth and eager tongue would soon have him back into fighting form and then she, too, could feel for the first time the delight of laying with a man: the eager clutching of his soft hands, his passionate gasps, his liquid fire...

Her tentacles' mouths had drooled, but she had muttered something and flown away, leaving Dovedale with the boy. Vorpal rushed home, fell on her couch and tore off her garment, letting her tentacles wander wherever they wished. But there had been no ultimate satisfaction, just an angry, lingering frustration.

She'd regretted not taking the Cheshire Cat's offer up, initially. But over time she'd felt she'd done the right thing. She would have had to have left the boy for the cat, or else shared him, and she had never been one for sharing. Dragons were most covetous monsters, after all.

But now she had this beautiful creature to herself. A girl. What would it be like to lay with a girl, she wondered? The thought intrigued her, but then the annoyance returned.

Oh, why did she have to be a princess? And why did she have to be kept for the Queen of Heart's pleasure?

Feeling sorry for herself, Vorpal let the horrible loneliness she usually kept at bay creep back upon her. She had always suffered it, even before she'd been made a jabberwock. As a dragon, no man had been worthy of her. Many dragon hunters had come, and there had been many men she had defeated in battle when despoiling rich kingdoms. But none had been what she desired.

She looked about her lair. It was a cave, of course, like her home as a dragon had been. Many jabberwocks lived in similar places. They were deep down still dragons, after all, even if they had never experienced being other than a jabberwock. There were gold and jewels, of course, piled up in the way dragons enjoy having it, being on display at all times. The mound, upon which she was lying on her tummy and watching the princess, glittered all about her in the torchlight. Morning was still a while away, and this chamber would only receive the sunlight when the sun was high in the sky.

She shifted, enjoying the feeling of the hard coins under her belly. Ah, but her body was itchy today! She squirmed until her breasts and thighs and twisting tail had made a nice hollow. Now she could relax and continue to watch the princess sleep.

Vorpal's lair was richly decorated with furniture she had stolen. She remembered when she had despoiled that human mansion where she had found the couch the princess was sleeping on. There had been an old grandfather clock as well and it sat now in the corner of the chamber, ticking. Tapestries of royal scenes covered the walls. Her favourite, although it annoyed her also, was the one hanging on the far wall, near her collection of magical swords. It showed in its intricate embroidery, no doubt woven by the delicate hands of some young princess like her current quarry, a scene of a young knight kneeling before a girl and taking her hand in his. Clearly it was a scene from one of those romantic novels that such aristocratic girls like so much.

Vorpal's eyes flicked to the bookcases of books she had. She loved the look of books, even though she seldom had the patience to read them. There were many romances there, and she had read a few. But more then often the situations had irked her, with the girls fawning over unreasonably heroic knights, and the coyness of the writing was also irritating. The action would always pull away before the interesting part – you would seldom get to read about the lewdness of their wedding night. Such wedding nights must be lewd, Vorpal knew. Surely after being virgins for so long – the knight included – the first chance to enjoy the pleasures of the marriage bed would have the two of them tearing off each others' clothes and ravishing each other...

Vorpal sighed at the fantasy, eased out her long claws on her hands and feet. Her tentacles, as often they did when she was aroused, slithered over the base of her wings and along her sides and she shivered.

Her eyes fell again on the princess. Would she have behaved like the princess in her imagination on her wedding night? She imagined her waking, her blue eyes heavy with desire, her gold hair loose and wild as she smiled teasingly and lifted the hem of her nightdress just high enough to show off her underwear. Vorpal had caught a glimpse before of the surprisingly plain white covering of her round bottom and she had envied the princess once again. Her own bottom was generous, overgenerous perhaps, like her thighs – powerful and voluptuous, but lacking grace.

Vorpal bit her lip. No, thinking about her bottom would not do. The princess' knight. She saw him take off his helm. A beautiful young man, barely within the confines of manhood, with blue eyes like the princess and gold hair, although not so long. A delicate, gorgeous face, untouched by a beard, his lips red and full.

Vorpal squeezed her thighs together. The fantasy shifted. Now she was the one lying on the couch, still a jabberwock, but dressed in a nightdress, as ludicrous as it seemed. She watched the boy-knight eagerly, her virgin heart pumping as he stripped his armour from his body until he was dressed only in his tunic. His neck and collar were pale and white, his arms and long, slender legs too.

Foolishness! Surely a knight would be more muscular than this mere slip of a boy. And older too.

Vorpal snorted. No. It was her fantasy and she would imagine whatever she wished!

The dream-Vorpal saw herself slip her nightdress off her body, letting her big breasts bounce free. The boy-knights eyes went wide. Ah yes, her boobs. They were a bit too large, but still proud despite her age and her overgenerous body.

She beckoned to the knight, her smile demure, but also coaxing. The boy-knight, his eyes never leaving her breasts, stumbled forward – his excitement made it comically difficult for him to walk. And when he hesitated, nervous, just away from the couch, Vorpal saw her princess-self reach out for him, grab him and tear his tunic off him with her claws. The boy gasped and struggled but she pulled him to her heaving chest nevertheless.

Vorpal bit her lip as pleasure shivered through her body.

Then she heard a deep sigh and her eyes flashed open. They fell again on the bed. The princess was waking.

The fantasy fled away. No. Such a thing would never have happened to this princess. No handsome knight would ever have come to save her from her high tower. No, she would have lived on, old and withered, her body untouched, a testament to the Regess, her mother's, hatred of sex. It was better, then, that Vorpal had kidnapped her, that the Queen of Hearts would mould her into some stunning succubus.

Such thoughts made Vorpal's desire shift away to that old itchiness. Her crest bristled in annoyance. Only a few moments more and she could have –

But no. She could have done no such thing with the princess lying there. Gods, how long was she going to sleep?

The princess shifted again. She grimaced, turned over, the fleece slipping off her body. Ah, but that slender body was revealed again, the nightdress ridden up, revealing that almost-boyish butt.

Vorpal slid off her couch of gold and silver with an annoyed clucking of her tongue. She could not just leave the princess like that. She went to the bed and with a single claw gently pulled the hem of her nightdress down over that pretty cotton-clad bottom.

The princess rolled over again. Her eyes fell open. For a heartbeat she look at Vorpal and Vorpal stared back at her and then her face slowly gave way to terror as the memory of the kidnapping and the flight through the night sky returned to her.

Vorpal stepped back, holding both claws palm out.

"I'm not going to harm you," she said.

The princess, her eyes fearful, pulled herself up into the sitting position. "You're... you're not a dream, are you?"

Vorpal frowned. What a funny thing to say! Ah, but she must have thought everything that happened last night was as dream.

"No," said Vorpal, with regret. "No, I'm not a dream. My name is Vorpal. I am a servant of the Queen of Hearts."

Fear flashed across the princess's face. "What does the Queen of Hearts want with me?"

Vorpal sighed. So many questions! Still, better not to alarm the girl – she didn't want her doing something foolish.

"The Queen of Hearts merely wishes to meet with you," said Vorpal. "One aristocrat to another. It is a great honour." She thought such an idea would calm a princess.

"A strange way to invite someone," said the girl.

"The Queen's ways are strange," said Vorpal, wishing she had not taken the conversation in this direction.

The princess furrowed her brow, although her eyes no longer to hold their earlier panic. They flicked about the room then fell back on Vorpal.

"A jabberwock," she said. "And this is your lair."

Vorpal nodded.

"My mother will be furious," said the princess. Then she frowned. "I remember hearing fighting. Or was that part of my dream as well?"

Vorpal laughed, then. "Rest easy. I did not harm any of your soldiers. On the contrary, I believe they greatly enjoyed themselves."

The princess looked at her, a frown marring her pretty face. But she seemed mollified somewhat.

She pulled the coverlet down off her slender bare legs and then swung them off the side of the couch. They were long and pale. Barefoot, she took a few tentative steps and looked around the room again.

Vorpal watched her. Yes, she was very slender, her form very much boyish. Her hips moved pleasantly beneath the material of her nightdress, although she lacked any sort of bust. She was very much flat chested.

"So I'm to be ransomed to my mother," said the Princess.

"Well," said Vorpal, and she left it at that. Why should she bother trying to explain things? It was better if the princess believed this was all a ransom plot. She would be easier to deal with, then.

The princess stopped pacing and turned to Vorpal. "And you're truly not going to harm me?"

Vorpal laughed. "Oh, come now, Princess. If I had wished to harm you, I could snap you in two like a twig." She lifted a talon and let the claws click together with an alarming crack.

The girl's eyes went wide and she retreated back against the couch.

Vorpal chuckled. "Merely a joke, princess."

"Why do you keep calling me that?" the girl demanded.

"What? 'Princess'?" Vorpal shrugged. "I don't really need to know your first name, do I?"

"But I am not a princess," said the girl.

Vorpal was about to laugh, but the girl's face held a mixture of annoyance and conviction. For a terrible second a horrible thought flashed through her. Had she been duped? Had the information the Cheshire Cat had given her been wrong in some way? Maybe the real princess was still in the castle somewhere, hidden, maybe in a different tower or some hidden room deep underground. Maybe this girl here was a fake, a diversion. Oh gods!

"Then who are you?" demanded Vorpal, her fear quickly sublimated to anger.

The girl's eyes went even wider in alarm. "My name is Naveen, the crown prince and heir of the Regency of Alfor!"

Vorpal grit her teeth. Surely the girl was jesting! She was ready with another angry outburst but then all of the morning's musings slowly came together. Her room had not been furnished as a princess' would have been. The suit of armour, the weapons and shield on the walls.

Oh gods. Oh gods!

She strode over to Naveen, took hold of a shoulder with her talon then with a claw of the other she lifted the nightdress's hem. Naveen gasped and clutched at the material, but Vorpal was ungentle and ignored the pushing of those slender hands.

Pale legs, topped with paler thighs were revealed, and then the paleness of underwear. Yes, that chaste white underwear. The front bulged out in a most unfeminine way.

But Vorpal needed to be sure. She placed the soft tip of a claw before it became a talon against the bulge and pressed gently.

Naveen cried out in alarm despite her gentleness.

There was no mistaking it. Vorpal swallowed.

She pulled her talon away and she let him go.

The prince – for he was a prince after all – stumbled back against the couch.

A prince. A prince! Oh gods, what would the Queen of Hearts think!

Vorpal steadied herself against the table. Of course, she would be the one who would be blamed. The Queen would not wish to hear that she had been duped by misinformation, or, worse still, had herself made a mistake. Innumerable stories told across Wonderland of the unfortunate fates of individuals who had raised the petulant anger of the young and powerful Demon Queen.

Vorpal felt fear rising in her, and like before it sprang forth as anger. Why had this happened to her? Why had she been chosen to perform such a ludicrous task in the first place!

She hefted the table up and slammed it against the wall where it splintered in two. Her tentacles swung out, hissing, raking the bookcase in fury. Books, bindings bent and pages torn, rained to the ground.

The prince cried out in terror and scrambled back into a corner of the cave as Vorpal pulled the rest of the bookcase down. When it crashed to the floor she stopped, panting, her wings shivering as her anger slowly boiled away.

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Her chest heaving, she whipped her head around. Smashing things had lent her a few moments of distraction, but the devastation now filled her with sick regret. Her eyes fell on the prince. He was hiding behind the couch, watching her with bright blue eyes filled with fear.

The sight annoyed her. A fine prince he was, cowering there! He might as well be a princess!

"Come out from there, Princess," Vorpal snapped. "I will not harm you. You're not an item of furniture, after all."

The blue eyes remained staring. He shook his head.

Vorpal fought back her rising anger. No. She would not take it out on the human. Smashing furniture and tearing books was one thing. She could not forgive herself if she harmed one so beautiful, even if he did annoy her.

And besides, if she harmed him, the problem would not be solved and instead grow infinitely worse.

Maybe there was still a way out of this whole mess. Think! No. First she should calm herself. Tidy something. That will do the trick.

She glanced about at the disaster around her, saw again the prince still watching her wide-eyed from his hiding place behind the couch. Her anger flashed again, but she fought it down.

She leaned down and took up a book. Its cover was bent, but she could still read the title.

The Maid and the Mistress.

Vorpal sighed. She had enjoyed that book, although the writing had been awful. She massaged the cover in a futile attempt to repair it.

A strange story. Humans wrote so many stories about Wonderland, as though enamoured of the place. Some did, after all, seek it out for its many pleasures. They often got far more than they bargained for. No doubt they had read one of these frivolous fantasy tales and believed everything in it. Often the details were hilariously wrong.

But this book had not been too bad in that regard. That was why she liked it. The author seemed to have visited Wonderland at one time or another. Just how he had left it, Vorpal had no idea. But the plot of the story had been almost as fun to read as the risqué scenes.

For one thing, the scene where the Maid in the title was turned male after eating a slice of Wonderland cake, and the subsequent drama of her being sought-after by every monster girl imaginable, much to her lover, the Master's, chagrin.

The cake. What was it like to become male, she wondered?

Vorpal went to place the book gently on the still-standing dresser but she dropped it. A thought had struck her.

Cake. Wonderland cake!

If she gave the cake to the prince, and changed her into a princess, than maybe the problem would be solved. She shuddered at the thought of tricking the Queen of Hearts, but wasn't this merely reversing a trick which had already been played on her? If a princess was what the Queen wanted, a princess she'd get!

But how to get a piece of that cake? She did not often go to many tea-parties, although Dovedale was always inviting her. There was always too much rivalry there, too much jockeying for social position. And then there would be humans too, more likely than not, for the monster-girls to play with.

Truth was, she did not want to compete with the other monster-girls over humans. She slid a talon subconsciously along a hip. Yes, all too hippy. And her butt, although shapely, was a little oversized. All of that, and her age as well, produced a rather sorry state of affairs.

She sighed and returned to picking up the books. The princess watched her.

She stopped. Why was she doing this on her own? It was at least partly the dashed 'princess's fault!

"Come on out," she said. "The least you could do is help me."

"I'm sorry," said the prince. "You're angry because of me."

Vorpal rolled her eyes. "Yes. No. The situation angered me. It still does. But I'm not that angry now. Just annoyed. Come out. I told you I won't harm you."

The prince tentatively slipped from behind the sofa, his face still unsure. His blue eyes never left her as he picked his way through the books.

Vorpal wheeled on him. "What is with that cringing? Am I really so terrifying?"

"I– I've heard that the monsters of this land..." He swallowed. "That they are prone to disgracing human males."

"Disgracing?" Then Vorpal snorted. "Ah! You mean ravish, surely. Or rape perhaps?"

At the word 'rape' the prince blanched and Vorpal wondered just how a boy so pale could turn even paler. She enjoyed his discomfort for a moment before she decided not to push things too far. She had to gain his trust if she was going to fix this whole debacle.

"Your virginity is safe with me," she said quickly. "Queen's orders. Besides, you are scarcely my type."

The ludicrous lie felt thick on her tongue and she wondered if the boy would sense it. But he seemed to have paid more attention to her words than her tone and believed her statement about not raping him, at least.

He grew brave enough to start picking up books and piling them neatly. Ah, for a prince he seemed not too averse to physical work, and his attentive neatness pleased Vorpal. She went and examined the remains of the table. There was no saving it. She would need to find another, then.

She watched the boy. Ah, but he did look like a princess in that nightdress. Vorpal recalled the delightful bulge in his underwear. He was not poorly endowed. And those curved buttocks of his. They would be perfect for squeezing.

Gods, what was she thinking? But then she remembered the earlier itchiness she had felt as she had imagined her fantasy of the boy-knight. No knight, this boy, and yet –

A virgin. Who blushed and said things like 'disgraced'. Pale skin, soft to the touch.

Not her type?

Gods. He was just her type! Vorpal, you perverted old lizard! Wanting to strip a young boy of his virginity.

And her own. That was it, wasn't it?

She picked up each half of the table in a talon, carried them outside and tossed them beside the cave entrance. With a few strikes of her tail she quickly smashed them into smaller pieces. They would serve as passable fire wood. And yet, what a waste! She hated waste. She would have to keep that anger of hers under control.

She went back inside. The prince, carrying some books, had followed her a short way. No doubt he was thinking about escape. The thought of such a thing amused Vorpal, although she was not unimpressed. Maybe there was a man's heart in his pale, soft breast after all.

"Don't even think about trying to escape," said Vopal simply and without heat. "We are deep in Wonderland. The enchanted forest lies between us and the human world. You would be – haha – 'disgraced' within an inch of your life within the first ten minutes. Many a rapacious monster fills the –"

"'Rapacious monster'?" A cheery voice piped up from behind her. "Are my ears burning?"

Dovedale the Cheshire Cat! She was floating in the air upside down, her long hair a torrent of purple around her grinning face.

The prince, startled, moved to Vorpal's side. She glanced at him in surprise. Had he lost his fear of her so quickly? Ah, but there was something frightening about a Cheshire Cat, after all. Her grin was not malicious so much as it was predatory, and the way her violet eyes scanned Naveen's body was alarming.

Vorpal felt an unfamiliar annoyance at the appearance of her friend, but she swallowed it down. She had been angry enough for one day. Besides, her appearance was most opportune!

"Dovedale, I'm glad you're here. I have a – ah, situation."

The Cat's eyes slipped from the wide-eyed prince and scanned the room. "Ah. I see the problem." She lifted a finger and the books in a swirling mass lifted up into the air. They quickly found a marching order and slotted their way back into the bookcase.

Dovedale turned on Vorpal, then, and the prince beside her. She lifted her finger again, but only to wag it at them.

"Now, Vorpal, weren't you told the princess was to remain chaste before meeting the Queen? She will be most displeased, you realise."

Vorpal frowned. "What in Wonderland are you talking about?"

The Cat spun back up the right way. Her grin was, if anything, a cheerful one. "I didn't think you had it in you, or that your tastes went in such a direction. Ravishing this young thing with so much vigour that you shook the books from the walls! And no doubt you took her on the table I found shattered out the front of your den." She clapped her hands together. "Ah, but now we have a problem, do we not? I shall have to go find some Forget-Me-Knot Tea so we can dose this delightful creature and return her to a state of innocence!"

Vorpal fought a blush and waved a talon in the air. "No, no, no! That's not it at all!" And she moved Dovedale to one side, out of earshot of the prince, and quickly explained the situation.

The Cheshire Cat's eyes went wide. "He's a boy?" Her eyes took on a lewd glimmer and she turned and flicked a finger in the air.

The prince with a yelp was lifted off his feet and turned upside down. His nightdress quickly fell about his face, leaving only his white underwear with its tell-tale bulge below his pale legs kicking at the air.

Dovedale, biting her lip, went to flick her finger again but Vorpal snatched hold of it with a tentacle before she could play any more pranks on the boy.

Cheshire sighed. "Very well. This is your lair, after all, and the boy is your responsibility." She swung the prince around so that he was back the right way and lowered him to the ground. Naveen grabbed the hem of his nightdress and held it fast, his pale cheeks bright pink as he stared at the Cat with a mixture of recrimination and fear.

"So you see my problem," said Vorpal. "But perhaps you can solve it. They often eat gender-bending cakes at tea parties don't they?"

"Well of course," said Cheshire. "I mean, sometimes it is fun to enjoy taking another part – the novelty adds a certain delightful frisson to the lewdness, after all." Then she frowned – a strange sight on the cat's round face. "Ah, but we have a problem."

Vorpal's face fell. "What's that?"

"Like I mentioned, the cakes are exceedingly popular, and unfortunately I haven't seen one for a while now. And I seem to remembering hearing something from Softpaw – you know, my Wererabbit friend – that they were in short supply."

"But then what am I going to do?"

"Now, now," said Dovedale. "I said they were in short supply. I should be able to find some for you. But it will take some time, perhaps. And there is of course, a small price for my services." She glanced in the Prince's direction. "If, for example, I was to get some Forget-Me-Knot tea..."

"No," said Vorpal quickly. "Remember he is for the Queen of Hearts. I'll just have to owe you a favour in the future." She suspected she would regret making so open an offer to the whimsical and chaotic cat, but it was a far better situation than seeing the prince ravished.

Dovedale smirked and shrugged. "Very well, darling. I shall leave you with your 'princess' then."

"Please be so good as to hurry," said Vorpal.

Dovedale grinned. "You've always been such a worry-wart, Vorpal my dear. I know for a fact the Queen is currently distracted by some other intrigue or delight. It will be a while before she recalls your little mission. But I'll not tarry." And with that she bowed to Vorpal and then vanished –

– only to reappear next to the prince. She flicked the hem of his nightdress up with her tail, exposing his underwear again, and slipped her arms around his neck.

"Till later, my delicious 'princess'..."

And then vanished just as Vorpal, exasperated, swung at her with her tail.

Naveen grabbed his nightdress again. "Are… are all your friends like her?"

Vorpal shook her head, but she meant it otherwise than as an answer to the prince's question. Friends? She had only the one friend, really. And Dovedale had been the one who'd approached her. Vorpal had treated the whimsical cat frostily at first, but Dovedale's cheerfulness and high energy, although still annoying, had done much to improve her own more sombre moods. She was not as unhappy as she had been before the trickster cat had dropped into her life with her lewd jokes and wide grin.

Yes, Vorpal was a loner by nature. Many dragons were. No dragon could share her hoard, after all. They were jealous creatures. Perhaps jabberwocks were less so, but she had never got on with the other jabberwocks. For one thing, their arrogant pride annoyed her. Each of them considered herself the lewdest creature of Wonderland and were constantly vying to outdo each other in erotic exploits. Where did that leave her, Vorpal? A sad, frustrated old maid with a big butt and wide hips.

The prince was watching her. His blue eyes were nervous, but she saw something else there, too. Pity? Concern, perhaps, but it was a little too close to pity for her liking.

She would not be pitied by a human!

"Why must you stand around staring like that!" she snapped. "And wearing that nightdress, as well." She muttered to herself. "I will have to go find you some more suitable attire."

A mean smile slipped onto her lips. Ah yes, more suitable attire!

"Wait here, princess. I shall be back soon."

The boy frowned at the name, but said nothing as she turned and left.

---

Vorpal rolled the great rock across the entrance to her den. Maybe she did not fear the 'princess' trying to escape – she knew her threat had rung true in his ears, after all – but she was far less trustful of the denizens of Wonderland. There were many creatures which would not think twice before entering an open den and ravishing whoever they found there. March Hares were the worse, by far, although Jubs Jubs were also a threat.

Ah, but with everything else that had gone wrong, at least the princess had indeed proven to be a virgin. And a beauty, at that.

Vorpal sighed. What had Dovedale said about Forget-Me-Knot tea?

She shook her head. Foolish thoughts! Even if their plan with the gender-switching cakes worked, there was no way that the Queen of Hearts would be tricked in that fashion! No doubt she would smell Vorpal upon him...

Vorpal shivered and took to the air. Her great smooth wings beat the air deeply and she rose higher, where the breeze was colder, hoping it would cool her body.

No. Flying only made things worse. Her blood always flowed faster when she flew.

She tried to get images of the prince from out of her head. Oh, why had she had that fantasy of the boy-knight with his face and body?

Ah, but that would be a male worthy of giving herself to!

No, such thoughts were dangerous and foolish. Better to focus on the job at hand. Yes. She would find some clothes appropriate to the princess.

And she knew just where to find them.

---

Naveen had spent the last few hours exploring the jabberwock's den, in part from a desire to find an escape route, but also out of curiosity. The truth was, the jabberwock's threat still weighed heavy on him.

His mother had drummed it into him every since he'd started to become a man that he must keep himself pure.

"Your body belongs to your future wife," she had said. "And you must defend your chastity with your life. Without it, you are better off dead."

It was lucky, then, that the jabberwock had been charged with protecting him. The way she'd become annoyed at the Cheshire Cat's behaviour had made him feel safer. He no longer feared she was going to ravish him. She was just like the soldiers back home in the castle, charged with guarding his virginity. And the Queen of Hearts knew better than to let anything happen to him – his mother would not want him back at any price if his virginity had been taken from him.

And yet… despite her lashing tongue and her quick temper and her frowns and muttering, the jabberwock Vorpal seemed a good person beneath it all.

His investigation of the den was then, in part, an attempt to find out more about his captor as much as it was looking for a potential escape route, if it ever became necessary.

The main chamber with the couch he had lain on, the table against the wall, topped with a mirror, and the bookcases , all centred around the nest of hoarded gold, was where she seemed to spend much of her time. After the magic of the Cheshire Cat, it had returned to its previous state of neatness. Even the mound of treasure was neat, in its own way. The gold was heaped evenly and the jewels were arranged in attractive drifts throughout. There was a hollow, just the right shape for her body, made as she rested there. Yes, from the curvaceous hollows, it was clear that a voluptuous dragonness slept there at night.

He swallowed. Yes, she was indeed curvaceous. The little contact he had had with women had mostly been with the elderly maid servants or the soldiers or his mother, or, unpleasantly, with the aristocratic women he had been forced to spend time with, suitors for his hand. Far older than him, not many of them had been attractive, and even the ones who had been attractive had been supercilious or cold or arrogant.

Arrogant. His current captor was arrogant, it was true. And she was prone to fits of temper, too. But Vorpal was different, somehow.

Naveen sighed. It was just because she was a monster. It was impossible for a human to understand a monster, after all.

He looked over the books in the bookcase that the Cheshire Cat had replaced with her magic. He'd glanced at a few titles on the bent covers as he'd picked them up off the floor. Strange names, like The Adventures of a Licentious Maid Servant and A True Account of the Amours of a Lady of Worth. Surely not the high literature he was forced to learn in order to be come an educated husband able to discourse with his wife about any matter she pleased. Few of the suitors he had met had seemed to care about history and poetry and the other subjects he was taught by his tutor.

He picked a book at random and thumbed through its pages.

"The young man carried me in my faint to the bedchamber. He was stronger than his slender build had given me cause to believe.

"What are you doing?" I asked him, trying not to think to much of warm, firm chest pressed against my side, his arms beneath my knees and under my arm in that most delightful embrace usually enjoyed by a newly-wed bride being carried over the threshold.

"Hush milady," he murmured. "You fell in a faint. I am merely taking you to your bed."

"To my bed?" My face flushed. Such a chivalrous young man! And yet…

He placed me gently on the embroidered duvet and I only at last slid my arms from around his neck, where I had held them as he had carried me, with stinging regret. I arranged my night-dress which had ridden up, exposing my ankles and the bottom of my calves and it was the boy's turn to blush.

"I... I hope you will feel better soon, milady," he said, his eyes refusing to meet mine. He turned, but I reached up and grabbed his hand.

"Oh, dear boy, please do not be so eager to leave me. I –" And here my pride was swallowed and I fell back on the most disarming weapon of a woman – pity. "I fear another attack. Stay with me, please, and talk to me."

The boy glanced at me, tried to avoid the sight of my now heaving bosom. "But milady – it would be unseemly."

"It is not unseemly to merely converse," I said.

"But there is no chair for me here,' began the boy.

"The bed will suffice," I said. "Sit here beside me." And I pulled him down onto the bed. He came with a gentle yelp, stifled so as not to wake the others who at this dark hour were all deep in sleep.

He bounced and with a laugh I steadied him. He really was a slender little thing! I did not immediately drop his hand, but like the wanton my heart was driving me to become, I held on to it and was even so bold as to place my other hand atop it and stroke the soft, smooth…

Naveen shut the book. His heart was racing. Oh, so it was a book of that sort. He put it back. Were these really all books of that sort?

But then the beings of Wonderland were all lustful in that way, were they not? The tales he had heard!

But he had also always heard of how vile and terrible the creatures were, how they tainted and corrupted all that they touched, that Wonderland was a haunt of demons and evil. He glanced about the room, at the elegant furniture. It was all very tastefully decorated, actually. A cave, it was true, but there was little doubt a lady lived here. Only the great mound of gold and jewels gave any hint at the true nature of its inhabitant.

He moved over the to the great table with the mirror balanced against the wall atop it. A little treasure trove of make-up bottles and perfumes and rouge and powders lay to one side, and a bench had been puled up against it. A dresser! But one fit for the formidable body of a jabberwock.

There was something charming about the size of the bench, how it didn't fit with the table. The prince imagined how Vorpal would look, perched on it, attending to her long lashes, applying her lip stain, powdering her cheeks with rouge!

Oh, but the rouge did not seem to have been used. Perhaps it was there for the sake of completeness. Her complexion was already pink and healthy, unlike those awful old women who had come to ask his hand, the ones with the cold hands that would touch him whenever his mother left him alone with them.

Vorpal, seated here, in her nightclothes. Did she wear nightclothes? But of course she must. She would not wear that outfit while she slept – although it covered little and did more to draw attention to her deep décolletage and the smooth nakedness of her stomach. How then would her nightclothes be able to reveal more?

Naveen swallowed. No, he mustn't think of such things. He felt the heat flowing to that shameful part of him, felt the insides of his bones melting. He shook his head free of the daze. No, he had to find some way to escape. Stories of the rapacity of the monsters outside the den might just be that – stories intended to keep him shut in, as much a part of the prison as the great stone she'd pulled across the cave entrance.

He ducked down the corridor, found the bathroom and the other amenities. The bathroom was lavish, with a huge bath that had been cut into the stone. There were great cut marks in the naked stone – had her claws done that? And yet, like everything else, there was a feminine feel to everything. Tiles had been laid around the bath and there was a maze of luxurious copper piping.

He rubbed at his greasy brow. A bath would be welcome. But no… he had only a short while to find a way out.

There was another room, but it appeared to be a storeroom of some sort, with furniture and boxes and unseen objects covered by oilcloths – the jabberwock's miscellaneous booty? A quick inspection revealed no obvious escape route. He returned, then, to the front chamber and pressed a hand against the great slab of rock. Of course, it did not move. It was like pushing against a cliff-side.

He was not strong, but he knew that even the burliest of his mother's knights would also not have been able to move it.

Naveen fell back with a sigh against the stone. So. That was that, then. He would have to find some other way to manage his escape. Or else, wait until his mother paid the ransom.

The stone moved. He yelped and stumbled forward, wheeling around to see great talons appear in between the rock and the cave wall.

Those talons! Were they even the jabberwock's? They could be another monster's after all. What was he going to do?

But then the grinning maw of one of Vorpal's tentacles slipped inside and the prince breathed a sigh of surprising relief. No, it was just her.

Vorpal finished pushing the rock aside. The prince was there, watching her nervously. He must have been waiting near the door. Had he been waiting for her, like some faithful puppy? Vorpal smiled at the thought, but then she frowned at the ridiculousness of the idea. She strode in and tossed the great weight of her purloined booty on the table.

"A successful raid," she said. "There will no doubt be some clothes there that you will find appropriate."

The prince glanced at her, then at the clothes – a mass of expensive material and embroidery, all jumbled up. He walked over to it and began to look through the collection. It was true, some more appropriate clothes would me most welc–

"But all of this is women's clothing!" he cried. He let the silken bloomers fall from his hands. Dresses, petticoats, a great mass of lace…

Vorpal grinned at the look on his face. She had expected a reaction, but not one as delicious as this! "Yes," she said. "And all your size as well. Please feel free to use any and all of it."

He flushed crimson. "But… but there's nothing suitable!"

"Oh," said Vorpal. "I think all of it is most suitable for a beautiful princess like you." And with that she grabbed hold of the material of the night dress at his shoulder. The prince yelped and made to flee but she lifted him up with ease, leaving his feet sweeping the air. "This nightdress needs to be washed and I will not have you lounging around in it. Now go!"

She let him drop to the ground. "No doubt you found the bathroom while I was gone – no secret escape hatch, of course. Go and wash yourself and make yourself beautiful. The Queen may call on us at any time and I do not want to suffer her wrath if I take you to her in a lamentable condition."

The prince stared at her and Vorpal saw indignation in his eyes. He was good at masking his emotions, like any aristocrat, in the interest of manners. She must have pushed him far enough.

Vorpal smiled. She had had her fun, for now. Let the boy have a moments peace from her bullying!

"There are towels in the small cupboard outside the door of the bathroom," she said. "Use as many as you wish."

The prince frowned at the mass of clothes, but then he grabbed some of the less lacy shorts and disappeared down the corridor.

Vorpal climbed onto her golden hoard. She shifted some scratchy jewels with her tail, smoothed an ample depression with her tentacles, and lay down.

The sound of water running reverberated around the den. The old copper pipes made a din, but it was worth it for the delicious hot water they brought. A gremlin had installed them for her and it had been worth the jewels she had paid for it with.

Vorpal lay back. She would bathe soon, too – the sweat of the raid was still sharp upon her. She ran a tentacle down her bare stomach. Yes, that feeling of leftover exertion. Her scent must be strong, too.

She murmured with pleasure. There was another scent here now, too. The boy's. She'd noticed it as she came back in. A delightfully masculine scent, musky but also gently floral, like freshly laundered clothes.

He would lose some of it with his washing, but it would come back.

Vorpal imagined him exploring the many soaps and scents and potions in the bathroom. He would be curious, of course, as an aristocrat. She acquired for herself only the best of such alchemy and he would not be left wanting for something appropriate to the luxurious tastes of a prince. He would be foaming them up right now, applying it to his body, that white, slender body, with the girlish thighs.

Vorpal squirmed. She should have taken him to the bathroom, stripped him of his clothes as part of the bullying game. It would have done him no harm and it would have seemed perfectly natural in her role as his villainous captor. She could have got a good look at his body, felt his nakedness. Now, if she wished to do the same, she would need to burst in there and the thought of a pretence left her rattled. She imagined herself leering, offering to wash him, like some bizarre rapist and she frowned at the thought.

She got up. There was no way she would be able to relax now. She glanced at the books, thought better of it.

She went to the bathroom. There, hanging on the peg on the outside of the door, were his nightclothes. He had taken the bloomers in, no doubt to wear them straight away once he was dry. She slipped the cupboard open. He had taken a single towel. Well, that was enough for his slight body. She used two or three at a time. Her tail and wings made it necessary.

She took up the nightdress. Lovely material. She brought it absentmindedly to her face. Yes, his scent. A little strong, perhaps. It would need to be washed.

Vorpal knew a few spells for washing, but magic had never really been her forte. She preferred the physical to the magical, after all. She would wash it along with her clothes, once he was out.

With the nightdress in her hands her heart skipped. Ah, maybe there was a further trick she could play with him.

Naveen would have tarried in the bath for an age if he had not found the experience of lying there in his captor's bath mildly alarming. The soaps Vorpal had had were of the finest quality and he felt himself reborn with his hair and body cleansed. There had even been paste for his teeth.

The hot water sought to keep him there, but he got out at last. The door to the bathroom was threatening and he feared the jabberwock would burst in at any minute, with some other bullying in mind.

But she did not and as he dried himself with the excellent cotton towel he looked at himself in the mirror.

He blinked his blue eyes. His whole body was pink with the heat. Oh, by the Gods, she had not been so wrong to mistake him for a girl! How he wished he had that stern, chiselled handsomeness he had seen in many of the castle's guards.

He grew aware of his nakedness and in a blush he looked about for the bloomers. Yes, he would need to change his underwear, but the nightdress would have to suffice for a while longer. He could not wear those frilly dresses the jabberwock had brought for him!

He slipped into the bloomers. Oh, but they were comfortable. He glanced at his profile in the misty mirror. His thighs and buttocks gave a slender shape to them. Girls were lucky to wear such luxurious things, he thought, then blushed at the naivety of the thought.

Stupid! He snorted and went to the door. He opened it and peeped out.

No jabberwock. He heard her moving around in the living part of the den, the golden tinking of coins shifting.

He went to grab his nightdress, but found a dress hanging there instead. After a moment's confusion he pulled it against his bare chest and padded into the living room.

"Where are my clothes?" he demanded.

Vorpal blinked at him. "Your nightdress? Oh, I'm washing that dirty old thing."

"But I cannot wear this!"

"Well," said Vorpal and she arched her eyebrows and smirked dramatically. "You can always wear just those bloomers, then. I do not mind. You are certainly not an uncomely sight, half-clothed, princess."

The prince opened his mouth to protest, but then he shut it and steeled his face. He turned and stalked away. He would not give this bully the satisfaction! He would wear this dress and act as though nothing was wrong.

He swallowed as he turned the dress over in his hands. At least the jabberwock had chosen a pretty one.

He shook his head. Just pull it over yourself and be done with this foolish game! He would not let the jabberwock think she had got to him with her teasing.

The dress slipped easily over his slender form. Perhaps it was a little loose in the front, where a woman with even a modest bust would be able to amply full the form-fitting garment, but it hugged his hips. He glanced at himself in the mirror. Well, at least the jabberwock's choice had been tasteful. There were many modern garments which could have been far worse. As it was, he could work with this.

He strode out into the living room with purpose. "Here," he said, and he did a twirl. "Is this to my captor's liking?"

Vorpal was surprised by his sudden, proud appearance. The petticoats of the dress swirled about him as he moved with elegance – not feminine elegance, but the confident grace of a prince. His feet found their place again and he stepped back, surprised at himself. He glanced down, his proud expression replaced with one of blushing surprise.

Vorpal did not know whether his earlier proud appearance or how it had so quickly shifted to embarrassment was the more attractive. As it was, she found herself flushing as well, but she quickly shook herself free of the sudden weakness. She shifted her open mouth into a lewd and arrogant grin.

"Very nice, princess," she said. "That is indeed most satisfactory. You make a delightful addition to the treasures of this room."

The prince blinked at her. He fought back his own blush and his eyes flashed with something like annoyance. "So," he said. "Shall I throw myself on your treasure pile, then? Or do you have some other place you wish to display me?" But the look passed and he smiled at the thought of being a piece of furniture in this jabberwock's lair. Hadn't he been just that, back in his mother's castle? Hadn't he been raised and pampered and dressed up, as much an item of display as his mother's expensive tapestries and statues and fine gardens? Wasn't this prison really just a change of scenery in the ongoing play that was his life?

The thought swept all the confidence from him.

Vorpal saw the strange slump of his smile and the sudden sadness in his eyes. Unable to read it, she grew annoyed. "Until the Queen of Heart is ready to summon you, you can do whatever you wish. But perhaps you might make yourself useful, if only to ward off boredom."

The boy shifted on his feet. "I've never been particularly useful," he said.

Vorpal ran a talon through her crests. "A princess surely learns many things. How did you spend your time in your mother's castle?"

"Well, I did learn a few things," said the boy. "Singing, the lyre, dance, manners, poetry..."

Ha! Vorpal sat herself back against her treasure pile. Now it comes out.

"But none of that is very useful," he protested.

"You sell yourself short," said Vorpal. "Perhaps they are not the most practical skills, but surely any future queen would be happy to have a husband with such talents." She lay down. Thoughts of being a sedentary queen like the sort that the human world was filled with amused her. Lounging on her bed, a pretty husband to amuse the long hours of her leisure, keep her bed warm. Her tail whipped the air. A most diverting thought!

Naveen watched the jabberwock stretch herself out. Just as he'd imagined when looking at the curved depressions in the top of the mound and how her voluptuous body would fit in. Her large breasts squished down under her weight, her buttocks high in the air, her tail whipping back and forth. The twin tentacles slipped sleepily around the base of her wings. So different from a human! And yet there were humans who looked a little like her, all curves and powerful limbs and lewd and earthy grins. There had been a Captain of the Guard like that once, her body perhaps not quite as overgenerous as the jabberwock's, but her curves had been voluptuous and he'd taken any opportunity to sneak down to the square to watch her as she put the soldiers through their paces. Her loud voice, her flashing eyes, the rippling of her muscles beneath the leather of her uniform. Once she had caught him looking at her and she had winked at him, her lips curling into a knowing smile.

He had fled, and that evening he had found himself tormented by thoughts of her, of having her muscular body pressing him down, of her lips thrust against his.

She had made a game of it, making sure she was stretching or otherwise on display for him. But it was at a royal engagement, where he had seen her for the first time without her uniform, dressed in a flowing dress with a plunging neckline. Her breasts, usually bound for the ready slipping-on of a cuirass, were free and magnificent. She had curtsied to him, her eyes promising much. But his mother had been watching and the Regess, jealous, had seen to it that the Captain of the Guard was sent to one of their oversea colonies and quickly replaced – by a man this time, with hairy arms like moss-covered tree-trunks.

Vorpal had the same confident stretch in her body. She made the den her own just by lying there.

"Well," she said. "I know that it is not real fit job for a princess, but you were so adept at tidying those books earlier perhaps you can tidy my lair. I seem to recall that your own room in the castle was very neat."

The boy glanced about the lair. Yes, everything was rather cluttered. The furniture was beautiful but not effectively positioned, the books well-maintained but in need of organisation.

"Of course," she said, the mocking grin coming unbidden to her lips. "If you'd prefer to regale me with a song –"

"No," he said. "I'll be happy to help." Naveen didn't want to be thought of as one of those pretty and useless princes, even though the jabberwock's questions had revealed him to be just that. And besides, he would get an opportunity to investigate the storage room he had not had time to earlier. Perhaps there was some exit he had overlooked, some secret door…

Vorpal sighed. Her teasing bluff had been called. She'd really thought he'd actually sing for her. Stupid! Like she wanted him to sing for her. She'd read that in many of her romances. The prince, or knight, serenading his lady.

But this was no knight. And she was no blushing lady.

She shifted her great body. For not the first time she felt out of place in this voluptuous body. And yet the boy had seemed to find her attractive – at least, that was how she had read his blushing glances at her. Her breasts, of course. All boys liked breasts, and princes – even princes who made better princesses – would not be immune from that.

The thought soothed her annoyance, as did the readiness of the boy to make himself useful. Vorpal lowered her eyelids, but kept the single slit of one eye open. An old dragon trick, useful to keep a jealous watch over a hoard even when asleep. But she did not feign sleep – that would be ridiculous. Instead, she let languor take her limbs.

The boy went to her bookshelf first. He had helped her reshelve her books earlier, and now she noticed the methodical way he had placed books of the same height of spine together. Her own side, where Dovedale had helped, was a mere jumble.

He shifted the furniture, little by little, with every passing as he worked on the clutter. Perhaps he was worried he'd offend her by moving the furniture all at once. But soon her dresser was a far more useful possession, opening up space to access the far chamber.

Yes, a most useful princess. She should perhaps have brought a maid uniform for him, one of those black dresses with the voluminous petticoats. He so suited the dress he was wearing, and with a duster and a lacy hat he'd make a most amusing sight.

Amusing? As she imagined him dusting in a most ludicrous manner, the image took on a seriousness she had not expected. He was bent over, tending her dresser. The real prince, her slit eye following him, but he became confused with the prince-maid in her mind's eye. She came down off her mound in her dream, sliding on her belly, the cold coins shimmering over her breasts and belly. The sound did not startle him and in a moment she was behind him.

"You missed a spot," she said, a talon pointing out a spot behind the mirror.

He frowned and leaned over. This princess-maid was far more trusting of her than the prince. He would already have scampered away. But in the dream he did not flee when she slid her arms around him, pressed herself against the soft material of his back.

"Yes, that's right," she said. "Just there."

He leaned over more and she felt his taut buttocks against her. Her tentacles slid forward, joining the hug, gentler than her sharp talons which would have ripped the velvet black cotton and the delicate white lace of his bodice.

They slid inside and the boy-maid gave forth a gasp.

She gasped as well. Oh! The cool, smooth skin – invisible to her, but all the more delightful for having every sense but touch shorn away! She could not hold back. The tongues of her tentacles slipped out, a tiny lick at first, the slightest taste. Salt, and the fragrance of a man beneath the sweetness of his perfumed clothes.

She lowered her face, her breath hot. She flicked the maid's hat aside with a swing of a horn and buried her nose in the soft gold corona of his hair. The fragrance set her mind reeling.

Naveen finished his adjustment of the dresser. Yes, this way she would be able to see more of the room without the mirror blocking it.

He heard something then. A strange, gentle murmur.

He turned. It was coming from the jabberwock. He slipped closer.

There was no doubt about it. She was snoring. And yet such a delicate, adorable sound from such a mighty monster!

He dared to move closer still. While awake, he had kept his distance from her, but curiosity drove him forward. A monster, and he was her captive, at least for a little while.

He knew he should use the time to search for a way out, but surely he could spare a few glances…

She had fallen asleep lying on her stomach. Her breathing lifted her up and down on her ample chest. It didn't hurt her to lie on such hard coins and gemstones? But then, she was a dragon. Her skin, no matter how pink and soft it looked, was used to it. A dragon's skin, despite its womanly charms, could turn the point of a non-magical blade with ease. Everyone had heard the stories.

She was more than amply blessed in the chest and her cleavage in this position was deeper still. Her arms were laid out in front of her, as though she was clinging onto her hoard, and she had quested her talons deep into the pile of treasure. As she slept, her crest twitched.

The boy stepped back. Was she going to wake up? But no, she was just dreaming. He came closer again to check. Her eyes were closed, the thick, dark lashes gentle against her cheekbones. Her lips were pursed and he was close enough to smell her breath. A woman's breath, sweet with sleep.

Asleep, her fierceness and mockery gone, the jabberwock's beauty was left unmasked. Her face was indeed as gorgeous as any he had ever seen – not delicate, as with some faces, but her strong features were well-placed and gave her an earthy rather than an aristocratic air. He was reminded again of that captain of the guard.

He glanced down. Vorpal's boobs were even bigger than hers had been.

The glance became a stare. He felt hot shame, but that did not stop him from looking. The rise and fall of her chest deepened and shallowed the ravine of her cleavage.

Yes, her skin was without blemish, and would be like silk under his hands. Even her scales, the armour all dragons had, looked velvet-smooth. He wondered how they too would feel. But of course he did not dare touch her.

Vorpal stirred again in her sleep. He did not step back this time, worried his movement might wake her. Her eyes darted beneath their lids. Her mouth opened and she sighed. Her tail lifted up and gave a little twist, then fell back down. Her tentacles, like twins sleeping together, shifted in unison.

She rolled over, away from him, lifting her knees and stretching out her arms into a more comfortable position. Faced away from him, he moved back in safety.

Her short skirt had ridden up over her buttocks and he saw then for the first time that she was wearing lacy panties, snowy white against the beautiful tan of her skin.

Naveen swallowed. Every instinct, every manner he had been taught screamed at him to turn away, but he could not. The sheerness of the material, taught across her wide and ample bottom, was hypnotising. Her tail had lifted itself again – it was as though it had its own mind when she was dreaming – and its movements pushed her skirt further to one side. The dark skin of her back was revealed, stark against the white of her underwear. She had dimples on the small of her back.

There was no controlling it, now. The prince felt a familiar shameful feeling. The material of the bloomers felt agonisingly tight and he grimaced. There was nothing he could do about it. He tried thinking of mathematical tables, of the long boring lessons he'd had to endure with his tutor. But Vorpal replaced that tutor in his mind and instead of the shrivelled old man, his skin like a human walnut, the plump-skinned jabberwock was leaning over him from behind, pressing her breasts against his back, the sweetness of her breath wafting across his bare neck.

Naveen fled, then. He went to the bathroom, lifted the hem of his dress and pulled the bloomers down.

He glanced at the door. He could still hear the jabberwock's sonorous snoring. If he was quick...

Exquisite pleasure shivered up the full length of his body. His knees trembled and he fell back on the edge of the bath.

He closed his eyes. Vorpal appeared straight away. She looked down and then back at him and smiled, that same lewd smile he'd seen before.

She came closer, her hips swinging, her tail high in the air. She fell to her knees before him, her face dropping lower, her breath hot against his skin. Her amber eyes stared up at him, huge, and she licked the lips of a hungry grin.

Oh gods! Was she really going to…?

He reached the shameful summit of his pleasure, then, his teeth scored his lip, the pain turning to a delight which made his spine ache and his limbs tremble.

He lay there, panting, the sweet languor making his body slack. But he forced his eyes open to look at the doorway, fearful Vorpal might have heard something.

He quickly drew some hot water then, as quietly as possible, and cleaned himself up. He felt regret, but with it a warm, relieved delight that still tantalised his bones. He placed the rinsed towel under the clothes he had left for Vorpal to wash earlier, feeling every bit a guilty child hiding something shameful from his mother.

He slunk back to the living room. Vorpal was on her back now. Thankfully, her skirt had slid back down. But her breasts were flat and huge on her chest and he felt the miracle of a second stirring between his legs.

Naveen retreated, then, to the far chamber, out of sight of the sleeping jabberwock.

---

Vorpal woke. Oh gods, she'd fallen asleep! Not just asleep, but she had dreamed as well.

She squirmed. Why in Wonderland did she feel so sticky? Then she recalled the dream and a flush slipped over her face. Oh. The prince – no, the princess. Where was he?

Yawning hugely and stretching her wings she eased herself up. Her entire body was still tingling, and she felt that familiar aching need. Oh, if only she'd been able to finish that dream...

Where was her princess? He must be around here somewhere. He had seemed so determined to work for his keep.

Vorpal slid off the mound, the coins shifting with a tinkling shimmer. A quick scan of the room revealed nothing.

The excitement in her heart shifted tone. Oh no. Had he…?

But there was no way he could have escaped! Unless… unless somehow he had stumbled upon that secret tunnel in the far chamber. But there was no way he could have…

In a rising panic, she hurried to the far chamber, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

She saw him as soon as she parted the curtain. He was on the floor, curled up on the little pile of embroidered cushions she had taken from that mansion in Welsple. He'd grown cold and pulled the cover of the lyre, one of her favourite treasures, down upon himself, but he had kicked it free and it now lay in a creased pile beside him. He was sleeping on his side, his legs pulled up against his chest.

Vorpal drew closer and he frowned. Ah. He was dreaming, too. Of her, his captor. That was why he was frowning. Her recently calming heart was pierced at the thought. But no… he shivered and murmured, and she knew what had produced that frown. He was just cold.

She padded closer and took hold of the cover. She wanted to get him a proper blanket, but she was worried he would wake. His face seemed so at peace. She drew the cover over his slender body and tucked it in.

He smiled and turned over. Her heart skipped. What was he dreaming now? Of her? Or did someone else make him smile?

Annoyance skittered through her chest, and she rankled. Why had she bothered to place that cover over him? He was her servant, not she his!

But no, he wasn't a servant. That had been in her dream. She was just an errand girl, or rather a babysitter, looking after the property of the Queen of Hearts.

He murmured and drew the cover closer against himself. He was still cold. Better the cover had been a blanket.

Oh, better still she join him there, on the floor, and warm him with the rapid blood flowing through her body!

The annoyance shifted again. She felt a tightness in her chest, a liquid flow below the waist. Such a beautiful thing, lying here on her treasure-room floor, and she could not have it!

He shifted again and the cover rode up. His slender legs were revealed.

She knelt down to cover him again. He would grow cold again like that.

Ah, she could look at him, admire those marble soft legs all she wished, but she could not touch him. But wait, that was not true, was it? He only needed to be intact, a virgin. She could still touch him.

Wantonness rose in her heart and her whole body tingled with a gentle but relentless fire which flowed up and down her limbs. She pulled the cover higher rather than lower and his thighs were revealed. She swallowed and took the hem of his dress with it.

He wasn't wearing those bloomers any more? But then she noted a fragrance she'd been unable to place when she'd come into the room. That scent, that scent she hadn't smelled in a long time...

Ah!

As a monster of Wonderland, the smell was an aphrodisiac for her. She grimaced at the rapidly rising tension in her body.

She let go of the cover, drew her hand away, brushing his naked body – his butt was soft and she lingered, letting the soft fullness fill her cupped claw for a moment, just a moment. Then she trailed her claws along the gentle curve down to the thigh, along it to those delightful depressions at the back of the knee. Then she stroked his calves in a single sweep and regretfully pulled her claw away.

Her need would not brook any delay. She fell forward onto all fours, flicked the front of her skirt savagely away with a claw and tore the crotch of her garment aside. With her eyes glued to his naked body, she brought her other claw to where it was needed.

The first burst of pleasure brought even greater tension with it and she brought her tentacles, writhing with need and drooling, along her stomach.

Vorpal bit her lips savagely to stop from crying out, drawing blood, but the pain was sublimated at once to the most exquisite delight. She drew her legs apart to help the tentacles with their task...

Oh! Oh how she wished it could be the prince taking her, making her his! Her eyes devoured his naked, sleeping form. She should grab him, toss him over and make him hers, not caring for any protests.

She moved closer. The lingering scent of him drew her. She stopped on trembling knees and stared, her open mouth drooling, at the smooth, white form of the boy.

Vorpal leaned down, drawing in more of the scent, the lewd smell mixed with the clean warm fragrance of his sleeping body.

No. Of course she could not. She could not!

But she did anyway. She brought her lips against his skin, felt the smooth warmth, and darted out the tip of her hungry tongue.

The flavour of him, the saltiness of his skin, sent a bolt of pleasure straight up her spine. She licked again and a further bolt followed it. She drew her tongue lower, breathing in the heady scent of his body.

She melted inside, then - her brain, her marrow, her heart. The slithering tongues of her twin tentacles grew busy.

Vorpal drew her tongue a final, desperate, hungry sweep, even lower still.

The boy stirred and gasped in his sleep.

And with that sweet sound of pleasure darting sleepily from his lips Vorpal fell back, her knees collapsing beneath her. Her vision went white and all she could feel was that terrible need, that tension holding her body to ransom, finally break in a spasm that poured joy through her and made her twin tentacles writhe and twist.

Then, the ghost of her pleasure still coursing through her exhausted body, Vorpal crawled away, as though she had been mortally wounded, a proud and arrogant dragon reduced to a fragile and broken thing.

She made it back to her hoard, climbed up it as though scaling a great mountain, and at last collapsed forward and let the intoxicating languor pouring over her to claim her body.

If only she could be lying beside him now, his body cradled in hers, his breath and beating heart shared by her own body. If only he was hers, if only the Queen of Hearts, if only the Queen of Hearts had not…

to be continued...