Mar 022015
 

Karen knew it was a sin, and yet to slip on the gorgeous vibrant color on her otherwise bland person seemed so deliciously decadent. She knew it was appropriate to stay hidden with lack of color, life, and she had the serviceable black pair of shoes in front of her, and yet the moment she slid her toes into the red pair, the warm fabric caressed the bottom of her feet, encased feet in utter comfort.

She tried hard to be the woman that was expected of her, but in this one regard, she had such a love of red shoes – had since she received her first pair when she was so young and poor that just available fabric for shoes was made by a kindly woman. Those beloved shoes that first protected her otherwise bare feet were later thrown in a fire and she remembered the salty taste of tears as she despondently watched them burn.

Karen stood up, brushing away that memory as she brushed away the tears as a young one, and patted down her skirts, watching the shoes disappear under their weight. She smiled, happy in her secret, and took a joyous step. Her feet seemed lighter, and she felt like skipping, like dancing, but that wasn’t at all appropriate, so she bowed her head and grabbed her collection basket.

As she passed by the small church and graveyard, she thought she heard a sound. She looked up and saw nothing, then chided herself because the dead have better things to do. As she entered the forest, she looked behind her again, and seeing nothing and no one, she picked up her skirts and sped up, laughing with the freedom of movement. Once she reached a clearing of soft grass, she began to dance, luxuriating in the movement of her otherwise stiff body. She hummed a tune and danced until she was breathless and then felt like stopping…only her feet kept moving.

http://www.deviantart.com/art/Little-Red-Shoes-137836266

Concerned at this strange feeling of not controlling her own feet, Karen sat down and yet her feet continued to move. She leaned forward and tried to stop them with her hands, to no avail. They kicked at her hands, stubbing a few fingers, and continued their frantic movements – for it was no easy dance at this point.

She managed to stand despite the bobbing and jumping of her feet, and moved uneasily towards town again, her feet still doing a demonic jig. She wondered who she could go to for this problem, and unfortunately had the entire day to decide, as that was how long it took her wayward feet to reach the edges of town. By that point, she was terrified, and believed she was being punished for not being obedient enough, plain enough, Christian enough, a proper woman enough.  Her feet were bleeding in her already blood-red shoes, and the times she tried to yank or peel off the shoes made her hands bruised and sore. She was hungry, sweaty, and breathless. She was ready to die if the shoes didn’t come off.

She went to the executioner’s house; he was a bit isolated and unlike due to his profession, but he had always been kind to her. She knocked on the door and heard a gruff voice tell her to go away and knocked anyway, pleading for him to kill her or at least cut off her feet. “I am cursed,” she quietly wailed into the wooden door.

He opened the door and stood looking down at her petite form, the contrast of him so obvious; he was burly, large in form and broad shoulders, with wild curly black hair that touched his shoulders – the same length of his dark, bushy beard. He stroked that beard as he stared at her, seemingly unsurprised to see a woman weaving unsteadily in front of her. “Now this proves interesting,” he said in his gruff voice.

“Please.”

“Come in,” he moved aside and the feet seemed to welcome the opportunity to dance across his threshold. She tripped across the room with its sparse furnishings and tripped right into his bed, her body sitting awkwardly on it and her feet happily bouncing upon the floor still. “My axe isn’t quivering for your head, lovely, nor do I wish to depart those beautiful feet from those beautiful legs. But I can help, for a price-“

“Name it, it is yours!” she interrupted him, and then looked down, embarrassed at her lack of manners.

“You. All of you, your body, your will, your love. Mine forever,” his gaze was steady upon her sweaty face, but he looked at her as if she was the most beautiful treasure, as if she wasn’t some cursed woman.

She had to look down again in embarrassment, his gaze unnerved her. Her feet ached, her heart ached, and she thought that if she must die, she would die more content in embrace than lonely and what was sure to be stumpy and gory limbs. She nodded her consent.

“Stop,” he commanded, and she almost laughed aloud that she couldn’t – why didn’t he see and understand her predicament? But her feet stilled immediately. She snapped her mouth shut, and watched his hands. “Let’s see what we have here,” and he gestured both arms out wide. She thought he was going to grab at the shoes, but instead the shoes raced to opposite sides of the edge of the bed, and she was suddenly spread apart, her body tilted back to hold her up on elbows to support the suddenness of the movement. “Yes, lovely,” he muttered, and kneeled down to slide calloused hands down the inside of her thighs. “We need to get you some colorful attire. I will not have my woman hidden. You are a jewel to be shown with pride.”

Karen was surprised by the words, she was surprised at how gentle his caress was, she shocked at the shoes that obeyed him and she yearned to do so as well; she shivered and became excited at his touch.

His hands went to one leg, stroked down her calf, circled her ankle, and slid off a shoe. Instantly her foot felt the cold rush of air, and she saw the battered and bloody blisters and cuts on her foot. He gripped the arch and while keeping her gaze, slowly lowered his face towards her foot. His beard’s bristles brushed across the sore skin, and oddly she felt as if it tickled but how could anything feel good as a tickle when it was bleeding so?  He opened his mouth, and she felt horror that he was going to kiss her bloody, messy foot. His mouth, his lips opened and sucked in her biggest toe, his tongue caressing up and down, around. His mouth was warm, wet, comforting, and she felt little shockwaves of pleasure headed between her legs and making her stomach squirm. She wanted her other toes in his mouth, she wanted to see him open as wide as he could, she was curious if he could get all of her digits in there and to feel his tongue slide up in between each one. And still his gaze watched her, a slight smile coming to his sensual mouth, and she felt herself blushing, wondering if she should stop him, wondering if he knew what she was thinking.

She was wanton, but she didn’t care. She didn’t notice the pain from her feet had subsided, the fear diminish; Karen only felt her desire pool and her fantasy of his tongue sliding in to taste it.

Wicked Wednesday

 Posted by at 10:34 am
Nov 032014
 

Following from here, a hunter finds himself in a tall tower with a lovely but naked woman who possesses long hair. Nervous and unsure, he tries to leave.

“Oh, you did not disturb me,” her voice like velvet, thick and even, smoothly moving from one syllable to the next. The hair pulled him closer to her, sliding around his upper arms and weaving against his back to further bind him. She smiled at him, her lips almost to his by now. “I am so lonely, I welcome your company.” He shut his eyes, unsure what was going on, sure this had to be a bad dream – or a good one, he wasn’t quite sure yet. She licked his lips, then pulled his lower lip into her mouth and bit down gently. A good dream, then?

He opened his eyes to see if she was still there. “Come and stay,” she stated, stepping back, the hair unweaving from around his back but winding tighter against his arms. Her breasts became uncovered by the silken strands, and they were small and pert, reminding him of her nose. He better not tell her, women didn’t like that kind of comparison, but they were small and came to a sharp point of nipples.

Suddenly he pulled out his reverie – literally, as the hair propelled him to the side of the room and he tripped backwards over the edge of a bed. The hair tugged him all the way up to the headboard, and briefly released him to wind around the back of the posts before gripping his wrists and stretching them to the corners. He cursed in his surprised, no longer thinking this was a good dream.

“Play with me,” she said, moving towards the bed. He dug in his heels, trying to move his body up and fighting the bound wrists. More hair wound its way from his ankles and up to his knees, stretching his lower body to the bottom posts. He cursed again. She had such long hair that it still swept behind her back before trailing to the floor and bed. She daintily crawled up on the bed, smiling, fully exposed as her hair was otherwise occupied, between his legs. “You see me,” she said softly, “let’s see you.” Her hair from his wrists crawled towards the opening of his shirt, the tips going under the fabric and he felt the smooth texture sliding down the middle of  his chest, then stomach, almost tickling, till it stopped at his belt. It strained up against the fabric and the fabric parted in the middle, with the two sided strands forcing it.

Her smile grew, the eyes tilted more, the full lips seemed to dominate the majority of her face. “How nice,” she crooned. The hair around his knees loosened – not the ankles so he still couldn’t move, and likewise traveled to the top of his pants. She reached up and used her fingers – a move that surprised him as he hadn’t seen her do anything with them, and undone the belt, then the hair pulled the pants down, for the barest of second released his ankles to pull them fully off of him before clenching even tighter around his ankles. He was afraid his feet were going to lose feeling.

He felt exposed, tried to suck in his gut and expand his chest- he was unsure if he did it to look more handsome or stronger. Maybe both.

“Stay with me,” she repeated, leaning over him, sliding her breasts from his belly to his chest, looking down at his face, smiling all the while. He became fixated on the green of her eyes, such a pretty green, and they came closer to him as she leaned down to lick at his lips again. They both kept the contact as he opened his mouth and kissed her back this time, suddenly not feeling awkward anymore. The kissed last until he felt he couldn’t breathe, but still he didn’t break it, she moved away with a laugh. Moved lower, and licked at his left nipple, biting it hard until he cried out. Hair curled around his neck and around his mouth. “Shh,” she said, from somewhere lower, “we will play before the witch sees us. Once you see her, you will no longer think of me.”

He wasn’t being choked exactly, but it was a bind around his neck that he couldn’t move from, nor take great breaths. He felt weak ever since the kiss, and didn’t even bother to fight against the newest bond. Her breath tickled the inside of his thigh, before doing the same lick and hard bite that he felt on his nipple.  He complained behind the thickness of her hair against his mouth, and in opening his mouth, the hair began to fill his mouth, until he felt he would gag from it. He stopped any noise, frightened.

She moved her mouth to the base of his shaft, and slowly licked up…he tensed, expecting the teeth to clamp down hard upon his member.

He wondered how bad it would hurt.

He wondered if she meant him harm.

He wondered if this was what a sacrifice felt like.

He wondered about the witch…would she save him or kill him?

Wicked Wednesday

 Posted by at 2:57 pm
Oct 232014
 
20141024

Image from The Daily Babe

“What a…you have my granny somewhere?” Red demanded after walking into the disarrayed house. Her granny was no easy feat.

“Yes,” Wolf hissed menacingly. “You look far tastier. Take off your clothes and lay down on the bed, and we’ll see if you are sweet treat enough to release her.”

Little Red kept eye contact with him as she unzipped her jacket, displayed she was wearing nothing underneath. She understood why he was called Wolf –  dark shaggy hair, unshaven,  seemingly unkempt, large in height and muscles. She was the opposite of him, petite, thin, seemingly helpless looking.

She lowered her eyes demurely and walked slowly towards him, the hood still on her head, her sweatpants still on her legs. Her baby blue eyes didn’t break his excited hazel ones as he pulled off his shirt, revealing a very masculine, burly, hairy, muscle bound chest. He quickly kicked off his shoes and yanked his pants down without stumbling. Standing tall when she approached him, she barely reached his nipples.

“Your pants,” he growled.

She reached into her waist band at the back and whipped out her knife, sweeping his leg, catching him unawares. His head hit a nearby chair as he tumbled onto his back. She straddled his chest, her knees digging painfully into a pressure point on his arms, and put the knife up to his throat. “My pants are coming off, Wolf, but only because you will be my puppet, not the other way.” She slid the cold blade against his throat, dipped the tip slightly and added a superficial cut behind his frantic pulse. “You may be bigger,” she leaned down and ran her tongue across his lips, his nostrils flared, “but you can’t win this.”  She moved to bend over the side of him, keeping the pressure on his neck.  “Pull down my pants,” she ordered, and as he moved his arm behind a knee, she kicked him forcefully in his ear, “no tricks,” she added. He glared at her, and she noticed his penis jerked up. He may not like the situation, but she was still delicious looking. When he worked the pants below her knees, she kneeled down to keep better balance with the knife at his throat, and his arm was barely long enough to work the pants around her sneakers.

“Good,” she cooed, “good pet. Now taste how sweet I am, how I bring goodies to those I decide to,” she sat on his face, sliding the blade in between her thighs and stroking his adam’s apple with the scratchy tip. He clamped his lips together. “Stick it out and lick,” she commanded, adding a deeper cut along the chest by a nipple. She felt his mouth open, the wet tongue swirl along her opening. “Good boy. You see, the difference of choice is what matters most to me.”

As his tongue licked and probed pleasurably, she watched his cock harden even further. He was such a superb specimen, it was a shame to kill him afterwards, but he was still a dangerous Wolf, and they didn’t make good pets.

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Key Words: “what a … you have” 

Forbidden Words: riding, innocence

Word Limit: 382 words

Bonus Words: make her the corrupter (+75 words)

Extra Credit: tell about a time you corrupted someone innocent.

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Over word count, even with bonus words, but not by much, which is impressive. I have a thing for fairy/folk tales, however, and Little Red Riding Hood happens to be my favorite. I’ve done extensive research on the different historical versions throughout the world, and am so fascinated by the story. I took Roald Dahl’s more modern perspective where she is not a nice girl, going beyond even defensive, and also blending/including a very old tale of rape – though the wolf is the one being raped. Charles Perrault’s version warns women to be wary of men, but men in modern times need to be wary of assuming that women are defenseless, harmless, or sexless. And that is the beauty of these tales – to reflect the current culture they are told in.

I’ve had a few virgins in my youth, but I don’t believe that it was a corruption – they approached/pursued me. What would I want with an inexperienced virgin?

My husband is the closest I can think of “corrupting”, for he was sexually very innocent, unbelievably so in this modern age. Now, he’s kinky and so dammed skilled. Our second date I straddled him while he was in the driver’s side of the car, grabbing his large knife in the center console as I moved, and put it up to his neck. He looked at me calmly and asked, “whatcha doing babe?”. That might be when I fell in love (okay, lust) with him.

And this past weekend, we visited some incredibly vanilla friends and my husband suspended the female, and now she wants to do all sorts of kinky rope things. Does that count as corrupting, or opening up a whole new world (now I have Aladdin stuck in my head)?

 

Flash Fiction Friday

 Posted by at 10:10 am
Aug 282014
 

Flash Fiction Friday 8/22 – My Wild Child

 Where did she come from?
Key Words: Wild, Found, Saved (use all three)
Word Limit: 300
Forbidden Words: Dirty
Bonus Words:  Let her speak, but it’s not going to be understood
Extra Credit:  When was the last time you played outside?*****************************************************

********************************************************************************

“I found someone!”

“Careful. She has a wild eyed look to her.”

There were two men who “saved” her. At least, that’s how they viewed themselves. Neither was her prince whom she fell in love with…who was now married to another.

She tried to talk; she didn’t want them to draw attention to her. She had a mission, very different from the last time she had legs. She noticed that they were focused on her body, despite its grime and mud caked skin, she knew she was still attractive. Body language, the sea witch had told her.

She pretended to trip and put her arms around the first man who came to her aid. She rubbed her breasts against his chest, looked up and smiled at him.

She never understood how the sea witch had such an awful reputation. Just because she was a woman who wanted power? Because she had power? Because she was sexual on her terms?

Well, she could be sexual too. After all, being chaste and well mannered did her no good for the prince. No, the prince was tempted by another, to the point of marriage.

She leaned up and kissed the man, plunged her tongue into his mouth and tasted his last drink. He smelled like fish – like the sea and home; they were fishermen. She wanted them both, and not just for silence to her plight.

She was ready to live life on her terms, follow her own desires.

She just first had to kill the prince as the sea witch requested, that man who scorned her. She had given up her voice to meet him on his terms – with legs. She had aspired to better her circumstances with marriage; the only avenue for proper women.

Conforming to society be damned.

******************************************************************************************************

(*Laughing* This isn’t the first time I’ve done the wrong FFF. I went to add the link and realized I did the wrong week. And it won’t be the last)

 Posted by at 9:46 am
Aug 042014
 

To read the once upon a time, click here.

“I want to do…uh…things to you.”

“Lay down.”

“But first, remove your clothes.”

“Strip naked. Slowly.”

“I want you to…um…”

“Get on it. Now.”

Beauty sighed, torn and conflicted.

Her charming Prince was awkwardly heard.

Her confident Beast was wanted and remembered.

The two men were not even close to resembling each other.

“I apologize, this isn’t working, is it?” her prince asked, concern evident on his handsome and chiseled face.

She smiled at him. “No, but I do appreciate it.” And she did, really, appreciated him working so against his gentle nature at her request for some dominance.

“Not even the remove your clothes?” he asked, downcast.

Her Beast would’ve told her how to undress, slowly for his entertainment or quickly if he was impatient. There were a few times where his nails tore through her clothing in his haste. She loved those moments.

She sat on the bed, and her Prince husband sat next to her. She patted his hand. “It was a good start, love.” She jumped up and faced him. “Tell you what, what garment do you want to see go first? Removing my clothes was an excellent command.” She arched a brow up in inquiry.

“Um,” he gulped.

“All of it,” Beast would’ve roared at her daring to question any order he gave. He wouldn’t move towards her, but his tone was all the threat he needed. That and the punishment she knew she would get for stalling.

“Your stockings.”

Brought out of her reverie, appreciating his effort and wanting to encourage it, she winked at him and put a pointed foot on the bed. She smoothed down her skirts till she got to the bottom and slowly kept her eyes on him as she moved the fabric teasingly up. When she got to the top of her thigh stockings, she hooked her thumbs through the top and just as gradually moved down her skin, making sure that the view of her leg and a peek between was visible to him.

His eyes were riveted.

When her fingers slid the delicate fabric over her toes, she picked the leg high up, gave him a better view of what was underneath, and as she set down the foot she moved the stocking into his lap, softly “accidentally” felt his desire straining to get out of his pants.

She did the other stocking like the first, mused that Beast wouldn’t have passively sat there.

No, he would’ve grabbed the damned stocking and tied her wrists with it, complained how she took too long, goaded him too far. He might’ve thrown her on the bed, yanked the other stocking off and tied an ankle to the side of the bed, pushed up her skirts. “Since you insisted I see what’s underneath,” he would mutter as he’d shred her undergarment and pull her parted legs around his waist, impaling her on his hardened shaft. That grunt of satisfaction that came from his lips when he first entered heard. Her own moan as her body resisted the invasion for the briefest of time but finally parted and gripped him into herself.

Still, she could see the desire as Prince watched her. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her. That was a good start. Not quite the reaction she wanted from the man she loved, but still…her love was strong, strong enough to break the spell to turn Beast to Prince. She hoped it was strong enough to bring back her Beast – if only parts of him.

The other stocking in her hands, she threw her leg over his lap and straddled him this time. She wrapped the stocking around his head and pulled him into her kiss, pushed and probed with her tongue as deep as she could, hoped it would spark a memory, hoped she could guide him by her own actions towards a little aggression.

He didn’t know what to do with his hands. It was obvious. They clenched at his sides, then held her face, then moved down to her upper arms.

Beast would’ve gripped her upper arms only to move her, or more likely would’ve had hair in his large hand, tugged her away for her nerve to approach him in such a way, and refuse to kiss her the rest of the night. “You want to kiss something,” he might murmur, pulling her off of his lap and forcing her to kneel in front of him, “kiss,” he would order and force her mouth to his manhood. If she began timidly, he would’ve argued, “oh no, you want to go full force on kissing, do it!” and push himself inside of her mouth to the point where he was at the back of her throat, holding himself there, persisting through her panic to breathe or not retch until she could control her breathing, and then pushing some more.

Still, her husband was trying. He was kissing her back, and seemed to be doing so with more passion. Small steps were still steps forward. She leaned back and took his hands, placed them directly over her breasts. He froze.

“You aren’t naked.”

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Squeeze them, hard, so that I can feel them through the fabric,” she whispered as she leaned forward and kissed his neck. She didn’t feel anything. “Harder, love. You won’t hurt me.” She felt some pressure on the top of her peaks and kissed him more firmly, nibbled at a part of his neck, her hands firmly (please let him feel and learn) roamed down his shirt, and gripped the bottom. She leaned back and yanked up, the arms slowed the process a little, and he jerked them up to assist her.

“Ow, my nose,” his muffled voice was heard before the fabric bared his crystal blue eyes. Those eyes did not change color and yet they were so different from what she remembered. Or maybe what she thought they expressed. He smiled sheepishly, and put his hands back on her breasts.

“Don’t you want to feel them against your skin?” she asked.

“Yes,” he nodded.

“Then do something about it,” she stated.

One day, she wished silently, her Beast would return.

 

Wicked Wednesday

 Posted by at 10:10 am
May 052014
 

There was once a chance I didn’t take, Beauty thought.

Beauty sighed heavily, turning her head in the early morning light to glance over at her husband beside her. The Prince was sleeping silently, and she missed the snores that she had become accustomed to from the Beast.

Actually, she missed most things about the Beast. Oh sure, her Prince husband was gorgeous, but she never would’ve married him if she realized that the transformation he underwent completely erased all traces of her beloved Beast.

The Prince was a perfect gentleman, orderly, calm, patient, caring and dutiful. Beauty recalled the evening prior when they retired for the night, her husband watching her with desire in his eyes as she undressed. He also unrobed, placing his clothes neatly on a chair. She laid down on the bed and waited for him, fully naked.

He smiled gently at her and she wanted to scream, already sensing the frustration but knowing she wouldn’t deny him just in case she could bring out the Beast. He placed his knees on the side of the bed and bend over for a soft kiss, his plump lips molding perfectly to her own. His hands went to the sides of her face and he gazed lovingly at her.

“I love you,” he said.

“I’m aware,” she answered.

Kisses followed, at long length on the lips, then the neck, trailing to her breasts but no further. She sighed, a recent habit, and rolled up and over him. She started slow, kissed him in a like manner, but trailed her mouth down his stomach, her hands stroked his hardened member, her mouth watered in anticipation.

“Beauty,” he began to protest.

She kissed down a hip, over to the inside of one muscular thigh. God he still had such strength in his body, she needed that.

As her lips moved up to take him in her mouth, he sat up and moved her moved her head up for a kiss.

She tried not to roll her eyes.

He gently moved her back and slid into her body while continuing the kiss. Her body, at least, appreciated this rubbing contact between them, though he normally didn’t go up to the pace where an orgasm tore through her body – more like they continued for quite awhile before eventually she clenched around him, trying to force them both to a gentle climax.

Her arms went around his back, and she dug her nails in, pressed and scratched, hoped to draw blood.

“Beauty,” he stopped, moved off of her, looked puzzled. “What-?”

“How do you have no memories?” she also sat up, impatient with it all.

He put his hand softly on one of her thick thighs, caressed reassurance. “I do,” he affirmed. “I remember how scared you were of me. How we began to trust. How we had picnics, gardened, hunted, danced. How we fell in love.”

“No,” she argued, “I mean, of our intimacy.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “I remember some. The awkwardness of my tongue with teeth. The caution of my claws on your skin. I remember pressing against you just to feel your weight against my fur.”

“I loved that,” she insisted. “And so did you. It might have been a concern you remember, but you never had trouble find pleasure with me. Nor I, you.”

“Do you now?” he sounded hurt; he sounded concerned. Her Beast never sounded unsure, he was unconcerned about pleasure he knew he would eventually deliver – when he was damn good and ready.

She sighed – she couldn’t help it. “It takes awhile,” she softened the truth.

He caressed her cheek. “We are still learning to adapt to our new circumstances,” he reassured and then leaned towards her for another kiss.

Beauty remembered the routine sex that followed, being wrapped in his arms afterwards, missing the tickle of hair that use to abound on him. She swore tonight would be different, she would find a way to bring out the Beast in him. Surely he still existed. She would take all the chances to bring him back that she could to help that.

To continue reading, click here.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked See other chances taken…

 Posted by at 3:37 pm
Jan 282014
 

The man heard singing while riding through the dark forest. Glorious singing, as if an angel descended from heaven and he felt drawn towards the noise. Before he reached a small clearing, he heard, “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.” The singing stopped. Dismounting from his horse, he crept closer until he saw a tower, with a figure disappearing into a window high above. With the disappearance of the singing, he felt sad and like he lost something, but couldn’t remember what. Getting back on his horse, he turned it back to the forest to continue trapping and hunting, but the strange singing haunted him, as did the disappearing figure into a tall tower in the middle of nowhere.

He was not familiar with this forest, as most of the townspeople called it haunted and tended to avoid it. But when food was scarce, and skins and fur going for a good price, he decided he would be luckier in this forest rather than where every other hunter went. And he had had much success the past week, so much so that he began to venture farther in. Surely that angelic voice couldn’t be responsible for the gossip of a haunting.

He didn’t get very far before he decided to turn around and go back to the small clearing, hoping to remember the way. He didn’t; normally he had a great sense of direction, but the thick forest made the middle of day seem like evening, and everything began to look the same. Somehow or another, he stumbled upon the clearing – right when the evening was beginning to set. The singing had fortunately began again, and he felt compelled to follow it, eventually riding up to the tower. He got off his horse, who meandered to the edge where the forest became thick again to eat some shrubs. Looking up, he couldn’t believe such a single tall tower existed, and housed such a beautiful voice.

He remembered hearing a chant, and felt the need to repeat it. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.” Suddenly silken threads come cascading down upon his head. The singing had stopped, and he realized he had no business being here. But now he was curious, and he had already backtracked to get here. He wasn’t sure what to do. “Hello?” he questioned up at the window, where the threads draped from.

No response, not even the forest seemed to reply with an unsettling silence. He grasped the threads with both hands, pulling, testing the strength and to see if they were attached – they were. Suddenly, they began pulling him upwards, and he found himself just below the window. He reached up tentatively and gripped the sill, feeling someone grab his hand, and then let go to grab the sill with the other hand. He used his feet against the rough rope, and the hands helped him over the sill. Tumbling in, but grateful to have made it, it took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dimness inside.

J Scott Campbell

Greeting him was a woman, the threads were actually her hair, strawberry blonde in color, long and trailing behind her, covering her body, which upon closer inspection was naked. All he could really see was her arms, a slight curve of a hip, and calves and feet as the hair was swept over her shoulders to cover her and then parted around her knees to trail behind.

“Your hair is so long,” he blurted out, and then felt stupid for saying it. Clearly, she was aware of it – it was her hair.

Her eyebrow arched up, already having a natural arch. Her catlike eyes were the green of a sunny meadow, her nose sharp, her lips almost too full as if pouting. He was nowhere near as pretty – well, not counting the fact that he wasn’t a female. He’d seen some handsome fellows around town, and the prince was considered good looking, but his hair was too thin on top, too long on bottom (he simply tied it back with a bit of twine), too light brown – women wanted the dark hair it seemed these days. He was far from being so active, but still had a bit of a bulge around the middle. His nose was too round, his eyes too small and dark. And he had no skills in talking to the ladies, much more comfortable being a loner. So what was he doing, talking to this mysterious naked woman in a tall tower?

“Yes,” she agreed, slowly. She took a few steps closer to him, the hair parting further and revealing all but her breasts. Lord, she was pretty.

He felt nervous. “O-okay, well, I…um…I am sorry to disturb you, missus,” he went to step back, and almost fell out of the window sill. He forgot he was up so high, but before he could worry about how to get down, her hair coiled around his upper arms…

To continue the story, click here.

 Posted by at 9:59 am
Oct 092013
 

To read the beginnings, click here.

The people noticed the thorn bush growing and wrapping around the watch tower at the edge of town. Calling upon the newest hero, Prince Philip was summoned.

No one dared to go near the thicket of thorns, and Philip had to dismount from his horse and hack his way through with his sword, his cape quickly becoming tattered. The low-hanging clouds created a slight chill, and he felt some trepidation as he looked back and couldn’t see the path that he had made as the bush had grown back already.

By the time he had made his way to the tower, his arms ached and he was thankful that there was nothing left of his cape, and that his shirt and pants were torn to allow air in. He looked up, and decided it would be easier to climb up the tower then to fight his way through the bramble inside, besides he had a gruesome notion of being suffocating within by thorns.

He sighed, and began climbing, once more cursing the fact that he was a champion – albeit a reluctant one. Maybe once he was at the top he could figure out where the damned shrub was coming from. Thorns wound their way in and out of the windows at the pinnacle, but for one, and he climbed in that one.

He caught his breath. There was his bride – well, she would be in two days time. He chuckled, sheathing his sword. He should’ve known it was the same witch who caused the tower to be overtaken – how many witches could there be anyhow?

The clouds parted, and the sun beamed in through the windows, a sheer curtain reflecting the light, coming from the ceiling down beside Aurora, shielding her from the thorn bush alongside the walls. She was laying in a bed (a bed in the tower? he thought), naked except for a gossamer red sheet draped across her torso. He had never seen her this unclothed before, the sheet rose up to the peaks of her nipples, showed the curve of her tiny waist (corset training? he questioned), and shadowed around her hips, barely covering the tops of her thighs. Her golden hair cascaded around her face like a halo – indeed even the sun’s rays reflected that.

She was asleep – as it often was. Her eyes closed gently, the eyebrows and lashes thick and a slightly darker shade than her tresses. He wondered at the hair between her thighs, not having seen that but felt. Could the witch be any more explicit, he thought, than to provide a bed with a naked beauty, surrounded by thorns so there were no prying eyes?

Still, there wasn’t much room in a tower designed for watching. Already at her feet, he didn’t wish to get near to the thorns along the sides of her bed. He stripped off his boots and pants, trying to stay balanced to not fall, then kneeled at the foot of the bed and took off the remains of his cape and shirt. His skin prickled at the chill, but with the sun out it wasn’t nearly as cold as he expected. He lifted up one of her legs and moved it to the side. As he expected, Aurora didn’t move.

With her legs spread, Philip slid his hands up the outside of her thighs, shifted towards her as he did so, and slid the fabric up around her waist. Her curls were a slight shade darker than her hair, and he parted them with a hand, moving his tongue to her clit, his fingers stroking her entrance. He half anticipated her to take that great gulping breath – a signal he had to come to know as her awakening, but she didn’t stir. Slowly, almost as if afraid to wake her, he began kissing, sucking, tasting her sex, again comparing it to honey when it did start to dampen.

When he had his fill, he moved up, shifting the sheet off to the side, and nipped at her nipples until they hardened. He thought it wondrous that she responded still asleep, and was curious what she would be like when they were married and she was alert the entire time. He shifted further up, slowly running his tongue around her bottom lip – softly parted from her upper one. So soft, her lips, her breasts, he contemplated as he cupped one breast and squeezed. Leaning up on one arm, he guided his throbbing member at her entrance, scrutinizing her face for a flickering of acknowledgment or awareness. There was none. Such a deep spell of slumber.

Slowly, he eased himself into her, and her chest expanded with that breath, her eyes flickered open. He continued pushing, and forced himself against her barrier. She cried out, her eyes immediately welling up with tears, looking confused and accusingly at him.

“Shh, my lovely,” he stopped his advance in her, and leaned down to kiss her gently. “You would not wake up. I was unsure of what it would take,” and hoping for this, he added silently. “I can’t stop now, not for my sake. Please, I must continue.” Tears still streaming from her eyes, she nodded, their noses rubbing as she moved up and down. “Good girl,” he leaned down and kissed her again, and moved the barest amount. She held her breath, but didn’t cry out. It encouraged him, and he eased himself fully into her, then slowly moved out and in again.

Not as focused on her reaction, he became aware of a smell, and turned his head, seeing the thorn branches produce rose after rose of the darkest red. The room was covered in red, the fragrant blossoms dominating the small space. She made a noise, and again his attention was brought back to her. He bent down to kiss her again, and she wrapped her arms around him.

He began moving inside of her faster, picking up a rhythm that felt good to him, briefly concerned that she would probably not be pleased this first time as tender as she was. Her body enveloped around him like a sheath, and he thrusted in and out, trying to last, wondering if he should even try, if it would make it more painful for her. She made a noise against his mouth, her hands gripped into his shoulders, and he felt her tighten. He came instantly, but still forced himself to move a few more times, hoping that she was orgasming. When her hands hit his shoulders, he slowed to a stop.

And then laughed, he couldn’t help it. This hero bit with Aurora was wonderful, and he looked amazing to the town – unknowing of the limits he was allowed to cross. And his engagement to a cursed woman was not the curse he feared. She was gorgeous to look at, pleasing, and passionate (at least half asleep). He leaned to kiss her and announced, “I cannot wait to be married to you.” She blushed, as she often did so easily, and smiled.

I did not follow the prompt of disturbing films, but see who did…Wicked Wednesday... be inspired & share...

 Posted by at 8:36 pm
Sep 192013
 

FFF Prompt for Sep 20

Granny paused in front of her door, just in case Little Red was already there with her goody basket. She looked down and made sure the front dress buttons were done, reached behind and adjusted her panties. They were still twisted from rushing through the woods once she realized the time.

What a time it was! The woodcutter had looked exceptionally brawny today, with sweat glistening off his brow. The sun caught the few streaks of red in his beard, and glistened off his muscular arms – the flannel sleeves being rolled up. She had brought him a picnic lunch, spread down a blanket before spreading her own legs, the invitation to partake of her body before the meal. With a twinkle in his eye and manly chuckle, he had dropped down between her legs. The fabric of his pants coarse against her skin, but she didn’t complain, not when he was already gathering her in his arms, kissing her with such strength.

It was hours before she remembered her granddaughter was supposed to come over, and scrambled to get dressed, rushing away with the promise of tomorrow. She heard a crash inside as she adjusted her clothes, and slowly pushed open the door…

Word Max = 200

Word Min = 200

Bonus Words – None
Extra Credit – See above
Key Phrase – None – Just tell me a story
Let’s keep it tight folks.
 Posted by at 10:29 pm
Sep 172013
 

He sighed, hearing the bells toll the time. Maybe she wasn’t coming…or….she was late, again. Given his good lucks and the shared passion, he couldn’t picture her standing him up.

He sighed, a tad impatient. There was no helping it, he had a date with Aurora, and his parents expected them to be seen together with the upcoming nuptials imminent. He grabbed his horse’s reigns, and swung up, heading towards the nearest forest. Knowing Aurora, she was lost in the forest, or the spell took her again.

The spell…he didn’t know how he felt about that yet. His family came from a long line of heroes, surely they didn’t need to taint the name with a family’s who was cursed, especially when they ruled the land. And yet it was that damnable hero image they wanted to maintain that caused them to betroth him to Aurora. If anyone needed saving, it was her.

He remember telling his father he didn’t want to be bothered with saving a damsel in distress. He father overruled his wishes, as always, but tried to soothe his temper with, “she was made for pleasure, lad. You’ll like her soon as you see her.”

If only his father realized how right he was, but Philip wasn’t about to enlighten him, would rather he feel guilty. Aurora was stunning to look at, with long silky blonde tresses, a slight exotic slant to her rather blue eyes, a pert nose, and lucious lips. She was curvy in a way that few women were in the kingdom, with a bountiful breasts, a slender waist, and hips unusual for not giving birth yet.

And as for the curse…well, that could be gotten around. He has slayed a dragon and awakened her with a kiss…it seemed all the men in his family encountered a dragon at one time or another. But the kiss was chaste, as befitting a prince gentleman. Her lovely eyes opened and she smiled. He wanted her then, wanted to smother her smile in kisses, stretch his length alongside hers and touch her until she truly belonged to him. But he didn’t.

He didn’t find the witch that first time, nor the second time she fell asleep to the curse. The second time he was sent for by servants, who summoned him when no one could wake her, asleep by a spinning wheel. And he resented them watching him try to wake her, as he wanted to run his hands over her curves before touching her lips softly with his. Yet, when his lips did touch hers under the watchful eyes of others, she didn’t stir as before. He looked to the others confused, who simply shrugged, and then back at the beauty on the floor. He brushed her hair more fully to the side, marveling at the smooth texture, and leaned down again. This time, he breathed against her lips, slowly brushing his lips back and forth with the slightest of touches, and – hoping his body blocked the view – slipped his tongue in. Meeting no resistance, she tasted of honey, and he slid his tongue alongside hers, when he felt it tense and move back, and then meet his own. It was his turn to smile, for not only had he saved her again, but she responded to his tongue without withdrawing.

The third time he had seen the witch, a tall, lithe figure all in black retreating away. He went to go after her, and almost tripped on his future bride, sleeping around the corner of the building. Her clothes were torn in a few places, and dirt smudged one cheek. He bent down, realizing there was no one around him, and slid his hands around her tiny waist, and up the curve of her breasts. The top was tight, the corset even tighter underneath, and he resented the layers. He realized his knees were getting dirty, kneeling in the dirt, lusting after someone who again needed saving, and grasped the back of her hair, lifting her head slightly to kiss her, not being gentle and thrusting his tongue in immediately. She didn’t stir. Frustrated, Philip gripped her shirt and corset to pull her up more, and the laces parted, exposing the curve of her breasts. He couldn’t help himself, he lowered her to laying again and moved one hand inside, feeling the swell and the heat, fingertips searched and found a nipple, and he played with the bud until it hardened, then leaned down for another try at kisses while he pinched it.

A moan escaped her lips, and she arched slightly into his fingers, her tongue dancing with his own.

Maybe there was something to this hero business, he thought. Aurora protested after a moment more, but he knew she was fighting against her own passion, could see her grasping for breath as he was grasping for control.

The fourth time he saw the witch again, was on his horse and could easily have caught her, but he was curious by this point, and instead searched for Aurora. He found her behind a bush, her skirt in tatters, some material still caught in the bush beside her. He wondered if she fell, or if she was running from the witch. They had not discussed the witch, which seemed odd, he now realized, but talking to her was the last thing he thought of every time he saw her.

She was laying on her side, and he rolled her over, lifting the hair away from her face. Those lips seemed made for him. so full and soft and giving. He loosened the strings of her top and freed one of her breasts, laid himself next to her, and kissed the globe, hearing her breathe deeper, aware of her waking. He didn’t stop, just increased the suction, his other hand freeing her other breast and toying with it. Her hands gripped his hair, pulling him more fully against her, and after a time, he let his other hand roam down to her knee, among the tattered material, and sliding up her creamy thigh. Suddenly, her hand released his hair and stopped his hand mid-thigh. “We can’t,” she breathlessly pleaded. “Oh please, we can’t yet.”

He let out a groan of frustration, realizing he’d have to use a servant girl again, instead of the one he wanted – the one that would soon be his. But he wasn’t sure if he should push his luck, after all, their families met quite often. So far, she hadn’t shared their moments of passion, but he had no idea if she would if he proceeded against her protests.

“I can’t take much more of this rescuing,” he complained, secretly looking forward to the next time, “every time it requires more from me.” He sat up, and she hurriedly did the same.

She looked at him, then down at the ground meekly, gathering her shirt together to tie back up. “Soon,” she promised softly, still looking down but smiling. He wondered if she noticed his bulge in his pants, if she would even understand what that meant.

And the next time, fingers stroked her soft lips between her thighs, curls tickling his fingertips, and drops of the sweetest dew formed against them. He pulled his fingers up, tasted them. Honey, he thought again, so sweet. He heard a rustling, and saw the shadowy form in the forest. He gazed at the witch, too far away to see anything but her form, and then ignored her, moving his fingers down and then parting her entrance, sliding a finger fully inside her wet tight heat. As he felt her breath expand, he leaned down to kiss her protest before she became fully aware, and melded his mouth fiercely against her as he finger dipped in and out, curving against her upper wall. Her fist pounded into his chest, her tongue trying to push against his, and then suddenly she was kissing him, and her hands gripped his shirt, drawing his weight more fully into her chest, as she tensed. He felt her clench around his finger, and then was flooded with her moisture.

He broke the kiss and looked up, first at the bewildered lovely, then up further to see if the witch appreciated the show. She was gone.

“I’m sorry,” Aurora gasped, turning a lovely shade of pink.

He chuckled, and kissed the tip of her pert nose. “Soon,” he promised, “you will know better than to be sorry. And you will learn how to please me in return.”

She smiled slightly, blushed further, and went to move away and reassemble her clothing.

He anticipated the next time she needed saving, as there was only so much further he could go. He wondered if it was going to be before their wedding date in just a fortnight, and hoped it was.

Yes, he was beginning to appreciate the spell and the entitlement it gave him before the wedding night…no, no, he was just saving her the best he could, he amended. But would he like to find his wife asleep periodically forever? The mother of his children? Perhaps after he was married, he would track down the witch and kill her.

Moving away from the bells, and heading into the forest, he began to hardened as he pondered how he was going to have to wake her this time, and if the witch would move in closer for a better view….

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Wicked Wednesday... be inspired & share...

 

 Posted by at 12:34 pm