By mid-day Princess Clara had trekked to the edge of the pastoral kingdom of her father, atop her silver-maned steed. She sighed before crossing the threshold and galloping into the warped and violet badlands, Thesela, the realm of the Witch Queen. On the horizon a black tower pierced the stormy sky backlit by a strike of lightning.

The Princess was an experienced rider, but the constant rubbing and grinding of her thighs against the saddle only exacerbated her constant state of unsatisfied lust. She had been cursed to remain chaste until her marriage to the Prince, and now, with the Prince kidnapped she had no present hope for release. She was able to achieve some vicarious pleasure from sucking cock in taverns and going down on maidens she met along the road or while stopping in villages, but she was always frustrated and aching for intimate contact of her own.

With the Witch Queen's tower now in sight, she felt a flush of hope for her goal, and her forceful will was reignited once more.

"Hiyah!"

She snapped the reins and called her horse to gallop onward.