“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!”
Prince Flynn commanded her from beneath the window, setting off an immediate physical response inside her bloomers. With dampening thighs and an increasingly tingly belly, Rapunzel released her hair from its restrictive knot atop her head, shaking it out and over the ledge for the prince to gain access to her cell high in the stone tower.
Each tug and pull on the silken strands as he climbed awakened from deep within her a song to be strummed by his fingers alone — a melody which lay dormant throughout her long and solitary days. Her desire built as he ascended and by the time he appeared before her, she was certain he could hear the hum emanating from between her legs, calling to him, begging him to claim her once again.
His unmasked hunger for her indicated that, if not fully aware of her desires, his thoughts matched her own. Then his face clouded with concern as he remembered another matter that took first priority.
“Rapunzel, you did not sing today. I listened for your voice all day long and, yet, there was no solace,” grasping her chin, his eyes searched her face for illness or some symptom that would account for her earlier silence. “I worried.”
“My Prince, I did not feel like singing today. I chose to read in quiet and await your arrival. Shall I sing for you now that you are here?”
“My love, you know how much I look forward to hearing your voice echo through the meadows. Why could you not give me the benefit of your song today?” His tone, deep and husky, carried a note of chastisement, a delicious and foreign sound that made Rapunzel suddenly and inexplicably want to stick out her tongue in defiance.
“Flynn, you are out there,” she said, gesturing to the vast space beyond her window, “while I am cooped up in here…all alone, with nothing to do but brush my hair, count the stones in these walls, and await you. Surely, a capable and strong man such as you can entertain himself. I will not be your entertainment. I did not feel like singing today, for you or for anyone.”
With a stamp of her bare foot, Rapunzel spun from her lover and flung herself on the bed, her dress rising to display a daintily turned ankle and the swell of her calf.
“‘Anyone’?” he asked. “Am I to presume that you are singing for others?”
“Oh yes. There’s the butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, ” she said with a laugh, noticing his thunderous countenance. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Flynn. You know…,” suddenly his hand grabbed her bare leg and twisted it so she was lying face down over her pillows. “Flynn! What are you doing?”
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| Photo found on Arianna’s Looking Glass |
“You are mine. Say it!” Flynn exclaimed as his rough hand climbed up her thighs and parted them to explore the slick depths there. Rapunzel, unable to utter anything besides a shocked gasp, pushed against his intruding fingers. “Say it,” Flynn whispered huskily against her ear.
“I am yours, Sir,” she managed in a throaty whisper as he continued his assessment between her parted thighs.
“And you shall sing for me everyday. Others may hear you, but I will know that you sing only for me,” demanding now, he peppered his words with nips to her neck, descending between her shoulder blades as his hand moved to untie her bloomers and cup the round fullness of her buttocks.
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| Photo found on Dauntless Journey |
“I shall sing, ” she breathed. “I shall sing when the mood strikes.”
His hands stilled, the nibbling ceased.
“‘When the mood strikes’?” He repeated. “You shall sing for me every day! I must know that you are well and that you think of me as I dream of you!”
“I shall sing because I want to, not because you demand it!”
“We shall see, Rapunzel. I will make you sing. I will make you sing, starting now!” And with that proclamation, Rapunzel found herself roughly and quickly tossed over her prince’s powerful lap, her voluminous hair wrapped tightly around one hand as he lifted her skirt with the other.
“What? What are you doing, Flynn? How dare you?” she sputtered, her arousal replaced with indignance as Flynn commandeered her flailing body and pinned her legs with his own.
“You are mine. And it is time you understand the consequence in your denial of that!”
With a deft manipulation of her skirts, Flynn was suddenly staring at her bottom, partially obscured by bloomers, as the fire cast orange light upon its blank and glowing canvas. As she fought to right herself, Rapunzel’s movements only heightened his desire of the jiggling, womanly proffering laid bare before him.
With deliberate purpose, the prince’s large hand landed first on her right cheek and then on the left, causing Rapunzel to cry out in desperation as his plans became clear. He was spanking her! Spanking her! How did this lovers’ tryst take such a turn?
She kicked her legs; she made a fuss; she tried unsuccessfully to wriggle from his lap as smack after unrelenting smack fell on her poor cheeks. But soon he felt the air change: she had gone still, and with slight moans she began to lift her bottom upward, straining for his touch, which he gladly continued with an open palmed determination against her reddening backside.
“You.” Smack!
“Belong.” Smack!
“To.” Smack!
“Me!” Smack, smack!
“And you will sing for me every day! Every day! Say it!”
With a voice thick with desire and tears, Rapunzel spoke her oath, “I will sing for you everyday. If you promise…if you promise to do this every night. It is only fair.”
Shocked at both of their evident arousal that resulted from this spanking, he bent to kiss her, vowing to come to her every night and spank her, smoothing away her hiccups with his tender lips.
“Every night,” he whispered, as he set about to quench their burgeoning desires.
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| Photo found on Dauntless Journey |
Ever since I was young, the story of Rapunzel captivated me and formed a basis for many of my earliest sexual fantasies. This series will explore many of those fantasies.
The Pink Report 
