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A nightmare turns into pleasure.

It's almost magic. Laughter may be the closest thing to magic there is.

Not everyone is vulnerable. Some people are immune to laughter. It's just too foreign to their own state of mind. They can't process it.

Fortunately, the king was very, very vulnerable. That was how Aswen first realized that he was actually a nice guy.

Aswen also had an excellent laugh. Really, she had entire arsenal of excellent laughs. She had meek, girlish giggles, and uproarious shrieks, restrained but honest chuckles, and an even but full bodied ordinary laugh that made you at least want to smile, if not laugh with her, and you remembered it fondly for some time after.

She didn't use her laughter for entertainment, and certainly not as a sign of her own amusement. She had very little to laugh about, without some purposeful second intention. It was a weapon, and she knew it.

In this kingdom, one needed weapons.

* * *

Aswen leaned in close to the king's ear, treating him to one of her shy, girlish giggles.

"You're not asleep, old man, and I know it."

He opened one eye to look at her, as a boyish grin crept across his face.

"I've been waiting all morning for you, child."

She gave him a smile, and a laugh that made it seem like a clear, sunny day, even in the cold, damp, dreary confines of his own self imposed prison, his private, expansive, well appointed castle suite.

* * *

It wasn't at all that Aswen didn't enjoy his company, or his body.

She looked down on his red, swollen, sweating face as his cock pushed up into her again. It was so fucking big. She'd had enough cocks crammed inside her. It was necessary to surviving castle life, and she was certainly pretty enough to attract them, in a skinny, boyish way. That was even a turn on for a lot of the aristocrats. Boys were their thing. And Aswen's cunt was as tight as any boy's arse hole, but wetter, and more agile. It was like having the best of both worlds, for them, a young boy with a tight cunt.

But the king liked girls, young maidens, and the king's cock was thick like no other, and long like no other, and hard like no other. More than all that, the old guy had stamina. Aswen was sure that she could ride him without stopping for hours, if she ever got more than twenty minutes with him, which she didn't.

She had long enough to get the chamber pot, quickly leave, empty it, freshen herself for him, return, and then pretend to be politely and demurely conversing with the king for twenty more minutes. Anything more would draw too much attention, particularly from the ever vigilant queen.

She laughed as his cock stretched her further. He grunted as he bucked, clearly annoyed that her mind had wandered, and using his battering ram of a cock to remind her that she was under siege.

She had a particular laugh that she used when he fucked her. It had to be perfect. It couldn't sound silly or flighty. It couldn't be annoying. It certainly couldn't be insulting. It had to be perfect.

Of course, the waves of pleasure his cock sent through her, the way his cock made her body respond, made the laugh easy to make.

It was a sound like sheer joy, like beautiful clear crystal shattering and tinkling in an echoing cave, but with a song behind it, with a rising pitch and tone that implied something more was coming. It was a laugh that sucked you in, and made you want and anticipate more to come. It made a man want to hear that laugh again, to force that laugh again and again from a woman, but also to hear what came after.

Every time she laughed for him, with his cock inside her, it made him crazy. He found a fury and an energy that had long ago left him in his kingly endeavors. When she laughed, he wanted to please her. He'd sweat and grunt, he'd labor and strain. With his cock inside her, making her laugh, he became young and virile again.

He rolled her onto her back, now, and she laughed at that, too, a wicked, screeching laugh like a child trying to escape a barrage of tickles

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