THE KIDNAPPED PRINCESS

The Kidnapped Princess


There were two types of guards in Bowser’s castle. 

The first type of guard, much like my Father, didn’t understand how the tyrant king kept 

kidnapping my Mother, no matter how much security seemed to be increased. 


The second type, like myself, had heard “the prisoner’s” voice suspiciously coming from the 

King’s bedchambers as she called out, “FUCK! YES! Shove that giant thing in deeper, and just... 

Break Mommy in half!”


For a few years there, I had to bribe some of the people in the second group, the guards who 

knew what was going on,  in order to keep them from telling anyone about the times they’d 

caught me masturbating to those sounds. But, despite my bribes, I’m pretty sure that at least 

one of them blabbed anyways. Because the King himself approached me about it one day. 


But, since then, I haven’t needed to bribe them anymore. Not since King Bowser found out about 

it, and invited me into the royal bedchambers to join them. 



He said it was because he wanted to see my Mother’s expression when she realized I was in the 

room after he was already inside of her. And, following that, he wanted to know if she would still 

insist on calling herself “Mommy” with me standing right in front of her. 


Turns out, yeah… yeah she did. 


But, she didn’t get the chance to say it as often. At least, not after the King ordered me to put my 

cock in her mouth and “see if that would shut her up some”. Mom looked surprised the first time, 

but I wasn’t about to disobey the king’s orders. The second time, her response was considerably 

less surprised… I believe her exact reply was to lick her lips, look me in the eye, and in between 

grunts and moans, she managed to tell me, “Feed it to me sweetie!”


These days, we get kidnapped all the time. Because as determined as my Father’s 

guards are to stop someone from sneaking into our rooms, they never quite figured out that no 

one was sneaking in. We were sneaking out… 


As for me? I Love it. And the King no longer insists that I shove myself down my Mother’s throat 

anymore. No. Instead he’s told me that I can have my pick of any hole he’s not using, but he 

enjoys seeing, as he put it, “his little whore-queen getting defiled by her own Son.”


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