Handbook of Erotic Fantasy: Voodoo Doll

“Is something amiss, Your Highness?”

The hum of the throne room paused then. All eyes turned toward Elf Princess. Amidst that thundering silence, the only sound was of rhythmic jostling: the royal leg, crossed over the royal knee. Gradually, it stopped its bouncing.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You seem to be.…” The ambassador coughed tactfully into her hand. “Somewhat lost in thought today.” 

“It is nothing. Pray continue.” Elf Princess slowly and deliberately uncrossed her legs. It took a supreme effort of will. 

The Heart Grove ambassador resumed her suit, prattling on about extraplanar trade routes and tariffs on material components. Any other day it might have been a fascinating study in interkingdom economics, and certainly the young ruler ought to have paid attention. It was her duty after all. But despite her best efforts, the princess’s attention waivered. Her mind’s eye wandered. It settled after a short time upon a certain dashing vigilante, and most especially on his rippling musculature. Such a powerful physique…. With hind quarters like that, he must work out.

Elf Princess imagined herself reaching out to touch those magnificent, definitely-humanoid glutes. She thought of words like thrust and plunge, and of powerful hands (which obviously had fingers) ripping away her royal bodice. She could nearly feel the motion of— 

“Ahem,” said the ambassador. “Is it somewhat cold in here?”

Realizing the observation was directed at her, Elf Princess forced her attention back to the here and now. She frowned. It was not cold in the slightest. In fact, if her labored breathing and sweat-soaked shift were anything to go by, it was very much the opposite. She had just opened her mouth to say as much when she noticed the direction of the ambassador’s gaze. Elf Princess glanced down. She felt her face go scarlet. 

Until that moment, Elf Princess had not known she could appear so...prominent. It was not, after all, such a sheer gown as all that. She quickly crossed her arms, feeling for an absurd moment and though she owed the ambassador an apology. After all, a princess must be polite. And as any tutor or finishing school mistress might tell you, it is decidedly impolite to point. 

“Yes! A chill. Certainly that, and nothing else.” 

“Yes, quite,” said the ambassador. There was a scatter of conversation from the wings of the chamber now. Was there laughter among the whispers? Elf Princess could not be sure, but she suspected she had made a spectacle of herself. And if she had… If all eyes were truly upon her… Was he watching as well? Was that handsome hunk Horsepower even now crouched among the darkened rafters, undressing her with his eyes? 

Someone sent for a healer then. Petitioners were asked to come another day. The ambassador excused herself, and the princess’s advisors began making gentle but insistent noises about retiring early for the evening. 

Elf Princess was dimly aware of this activity. She was not, however, aware of the sounds she made: small and desperate things beneath her breath. Nor was she aware that she had begun squirming upon her throne, rubbing just so against the soft cushion. And of the many scandalized faces that ringed the throne room (most of them watching in shock as the curse did its work), the hopelessly horny monarch was perhaps most unaware that one of them belonged to an Enemy of the State. And that the cause of her distress lay clutched and pinioned in that nefarious enchantress’s palm.