Wrath of the Princesses 1 - Ariel

The depths of the ocean were silent, heavy, and intimate. Ariel moved through the glowing kelp forest, her long, fiery red hair floated around her naked body in silken waves, brushing against her breasts and the curve of her hips. The water caressed her like a lover—she had always loved this feeling. Tonight, it felt like foreplay before violence. She reached the hidden coral vault where the Sea King’s relics waited. With a flick of her wrist, the enchanted clamshell doors opened. Inside lay her armor. Ariel ran her fingers along the cold metal, feeling it warm to her touch. She smiled, sharp and hungry. Last, she took the trident. The weapon hummed with ancient power as her webbed fingers closed around its shaft. She spun it once, cutting the water with a low thrum that sent schools of fish fleeing in terror. “Time to play,” she whispered, voice distorted beautifully underwater. With a surge of her power, Ariel shot upward. She broke the surface at the exact moment the sun kissed the horizon. The beach was empty—pristine white sand stretching toward the distance. Perfect. Saltwater streamed down her body, tracing the deep valley between her breasts, sliding over the muscles of her stomach, and dripping from the hem of her scandalously short armored skirt. She tilted her head back, eyes glowing an unnatural aquamarine. Then she activated her water magic. The sea answered with savage joy. She threw her head back and screamed into the tempest, voice carrying over the thunder with raw, seductive power: “I am Ariel, daughter of the sea! The tides rise for me. The lightning bends to me. Come, sisters… Come and drown with me!” The massive storm rolled toward the ruined coliseum like a living thing—rain turning the ground to mud, wind tearing at distant banners, lightning promising that the first blood of the war would be drawn in water and fury. Ariel lowered the trident, a dark, aroused smile curving her lips as rain streamed down her face and between her breasts. The war had begun.