by Selena Kitt
I wiggle with my hips against the spreader bar which has taken away all chance of protection. As his blows grow in snap, flinging through the air with a solid crush of sound, I give up the pointless fight and move my ass to meet them. I embrace my kink as silent, gagged tears criss-cross my cheeks. I bite down on the rubber planted in my mouth. Its acrid smoothness against my tongue is soothing, reminding me of what I've lost. As each blow rains down on my tender skin, I bite into it for comfort, my mind falling to the pure sensation.
I count them in my head when I can, when I can't I'm satisfied simply listening to the sound cracking through the din of the night.
His breath is panting, urgent, hard as his love is never ending. Each strike washes over me like his pride. My ankles are stiff, arms tired as his stinging relentlessness eases across my bare skin. The tool drops to the ground as he spreads his fingers over the marks dotting my flesh. A hiss slips out through the rubber in my mouth at his tenderness. He smoothes away the ache into something more delicate. Soothing motions of his palm spread the fire while tickling my overheated sex. I nuzzle the plastic coating under my head in blissful delight.
With his soothing motions come my liquid placation. Then the swift pulling and positioning of my trussed body at the end of the table. An amazing bolt of sensation makes me thrash with delight as his cock sheathes itself inside my tight pussy. He wrangles a tight gasp from my throat, his cock fighting past my clinging, eager walls. His fingertips bruise my hips, making his first thrust hit that magical sweet spot buried deep within my body. Each roll of his hips brings a new sensation that arches my back as my tender knees thrust against the rough table molding.
The metal holding the table together shakes with our gyrations, making my blood buzz with adrenaline. Everything could break down. We could collapse, leaving me a broken rag doll on the forest floor at the mercy of a predator. Each stoke brings me closer to the full mercy of his pleasure.
Every struggle shifts me over the edge, forcing me over the orgasmic precipice, into an infinite world of exploding fireworks and trust. My head hangs low, panting as my hands claw at the table, crawling from the inside out with a building pressure that liquefies all my senses. He keeps on pounding into me with a relentless lust my pussy finds both painful and satisfying. Any harder and he could push through my stomach as his cock head finds my cervix in a sensitive line of pain and pleasure.
I cross it without looking back, grinding myself back into him until he touches my ass still speckled with brands. My throbbing heat flares as his skeletal, cut hip bones beat against my ass. He strikes a new shade of blue across me, slapping his palm against my parted cheeks to the rhythm of his strokes. The renewed vigor with which he touches me brings a chain of small orgasms stroking up my body until I am limp and hoarse against the gag.
When I can't take it anymore, his thrusts become more insistent, shorter, faster, concentrated for his pleasure alone. Still I writhe for him, knowing he delights in using me, turning me inside out and then back again. I can feel it's almost over as his grunts grow heavy, long and low. He ends it with a howl, forcing his way through me with one last tilt of his hips. I swear the world collapses at his pleasure, my own spurred on by his teeth gnawing into my hip. A jagged ring of clasping teeth will be my body jewelry until we do this again.
He pulls out of my dazed body, spent and shaking. Taking stock of my shape and glancing over towards the long-dead fire, my lover glances at the approaching dawn. Reality has come to take him from me. We are cresting across a cold morning high as he casually undoes my bonds. They are nothing to him now.
As I ease up, flinching and sated, he rubs my hands and feet, gently working back the circulation. I am grateful that he takes care of me even as I wince from the lack of care he has shown my back. But I know it will be beautiful when I glance in the mirror in passing—beautiful as I trace, pinch and irritate every last marking while I fuck myself.
While I hide it from my family and friends, inside I will be gloating over the secret sting—the tell-tale hiss, a nervousness to sit down with my back straight against a chair. It's nothing my grandmother hasn't seen before. But it is also nothing she would notice. She may be wise in the way of herbs, but our playground is blocked off to strangers.
When he holds my chin in his hands, kissing me against the insistent urges of his body growing against my stomach, I want to stay. He dots my upper body with tiny touches of his lips, running his hands through my hair like the most precious pet that I am. He curls me in his arms. Knowing we must part, I close my eyes to the encroaching dawn, too bright for my midnight world. None of my fantasies can live here.
* * * *
When I wake up, there is nothing. I am on the ground soft with dew. I ache more from my heart than my body. I do not know if he will be back again the next moon. I know he watches me. He is my constant shadow. Whether or not he shows himself to me is up to him. Everything has always been his decision. I would rather settle for my wayward beast than the most handsome prince my grandmother shows me in the pages of the paper. They are goodness and light, shining through to cast the demons away from my chest.
I could not settle for someone so politically and emotionally cold. I'm sure there would be passion in our relationship. Maybe even a vine of love that could grow with time. But he would treat me as a delicate princess—then move onto the town whore. He would never understand my soft pleas to be used like the strumpet he sees once a month. He would beat me and feel bad about it later. He wouldn't understand my glow of pride as he came to me, wheedling for forgiveness. He would make me sick.
I would look to the woods at night with longing. Long after my husband had fallen asleep content with his sweet taking of me and my fake cries of pleasure, I would mourn a loss of myself. It would be a different kind of cage than the one I make now—a choking, clawing cage of docile compliance. My heart could not be in such a wicked lifestyle. I would rather be beaten than held back, loved after abuse than coldly ignored inside and out of the bedroom. This is my way to matter to myself.
My wolf prince is gone. Tonight I know I'll be promising the moon a lifetime of my happiness for one more shared night with her watching us writhe. Today I'll go to work in the gardens with my grandmother. Tonight I'll go the ball as planned. I'll stand and do my family proud with fake gentile breeding. I'll dance with men who'll wrap their arms around my marred waist and look in concern as I flinch from their touch. They will release their tight hold, not knowing I want them to grip me closer, forcing me through my pain.
I will be a princess of darkness or not at all.
About Elise Hepner
Elise Hepner has been previously published in The Erotic Woman for “Joy Button” as well as Clean Sheets for “My Little Pony.” She got her erotica wings from writing short pieces for Alison Tyler’s blog contests every Saturday and found her calling. This is her first foray into erotic literature though she has multiple non-fiction publications from travel magazines to medical magazines on her resume. She hopes to make erotica her main focus in the upcoming years. She enjoys getting down and dirty while exploring sexuality in a variety of ways which is why writing smut makes her heart sing. Look for anything new as well as tips and tricks of the erotica trade at celise91writer.blogspot.com.
GOOSE GIRL
By Giselle Renarde
Once upon a time, two old queens raised a beautiful daughter with the assistance of the community and a positive relationship with her birth mother. As mistress of her castle, Princess Svana grew into a happy and well-adjusted individual. Her ideology was based around freedom and justice for all, a philosophy not particularly common in the feudal era, but Svana always was ahead of her time.
Princess Svana was betrothed to a fabulous prince whose father was a friend of the queens’ from way back in the disco epoch. Even the tabloid reports confirmed prince Everitt was honorable, open-minded and handsome as a fairy’s own child. On the occasion of her eighteenth birthday, it was time for Svana
to take her leave of the caring queens and marry the good royal. Unfortunately, prince Everitt lived at a great distance. In preparation, the aged queens packed for their daughter many costly trinkets, jewels and cups of gold and silver. In short, they sent with Svana everything which appertained to a royal dowry, for they loved their baby girl with all their hearts.
As you might expect, Svana was not particularly happy to leave behind her many friends, the beloved queens, her birth mom, her pets, and that green grocer who never forgot to import a few mangos from faraway lands. So, to appease their darling daughter, the queens sent along a maid-in-waiting, Rosamunda. The strong-as-an-ox servant was to ride with the princess and hand her over to the bridegroom, making very certain nobody messed with their baby girl along the way. And messing with Svana was a distinct temptation for all who beheld her, such was her incredible beauty. But, apart from that one time, which didn’t really count since it was underwater, she’d managed to keep herself relatively un-messed-with.
Each woman, princess and maid, had a horse for the journey. There was something quite unique about the mare the queens’ daughter rode. She was called Falada, and possessed the uncanny ability to speak. When the hour of parting came, the aged queens and b-mom stood around their girl, weeping into a communal handkerchief. How sad they were to see Svana go! That’s when b-mom took out a small knife and cut her own finger until it bled. She held the tear-stained hanky to it, allowing three drops of crimson peasant blood to absorb into the white fabric. Feeling rather out in the cold, the queens tried to pierce their own fingers, but could not coax a single drop of blue blood from their bodies.
With a knowing smile, b-mom gave the hanky to her only daughter and said, "Dear child, preserve this carefully. It will be of service to you on your way."
Taking sorrowful leave of her mom and the queens, the princess stuck the bloodstained piece of cloth in her tight bosom, mounted her horse, and went away to her bridegroom.
* * * *
Having ridden Falada the Speaking Mare for some distance, Svana began to feel a delicious sensation between her legs. The metronomic bouncing pressure against her lower lips was her favorite part of riding bareback. Bringing Falada to a halt in the very centre of a vast field, Svana surprised her waiting-maid with a request.
"Oh, my dearest Rosamunda,” she began. “Riding this way has my precious cavern flowing with love nectar. I feel I would die without immediate gratification. I beg you, dismount and take a drink from my cup."
“You have got to be kidding me,” Rosamunda replied. “First of all, precious cavern? Love nectar? Who the hell talks like that, Miss Priss? If you’re horny, you can bloody well get yourself off. I don't choose to be your servant."
So in her great thirst the princess alighted, bent down to grasp her skirt tails and pulled them up and well over her waist. Laying her head down against Falada’s great rump, she tapped at her engorged lower lips. So sensitive were they from the riding that even the slightest pressure sent waves of happiness through her body. Rubbing her fingers against the juicy folds of her craving cunt, Svana panted and moaned. Her ample breasts jumped as she fingered herself, stiff nipples popping out from under her red and gold corset. Stroking through the waters of her swollen pussy, the princess rubbed faster and faster, big breasts bouncing, until the pleasure was so vast she had to squeeze her eyes shut just to stay sane. Gritting her teeth, Svana yelped like a pup as every fiber of her being jumped for joy. Oh, her thirst was slaked but how her hand ached! Perhaps she was developing carpel tunnel syndrome. Or repetitive stress disorder.
When the princess regained her composure, sitting upright on Falada’s back, she realized how sopping wet her underskirts had become. A pleasant reminder of the day’s pleasure. As she arranged her freed breasts back into her corset, Svana was suddenly overcome with panic. What had become of the bloodstained handkerchief from birth mom?
"Ah, heaven," the princess cried, hopping from her horse.
Nuzzling the distraught girl, it was Falada who indicated where the hanky had fallen, answering,
"If this your mother knew,
Her heart would break in two."
“What does that mean? If what my mother knew?” Svana inquired, picking up the square of fabric and shoving it safely between her breasts.
But the speaking mare only whinnied, saying nothing more. Svana mounted her horse again. But where had her maid-in-waiting gone? Her horse remained, but Rosamunda was nowhere to be seen.
“Rosamunda? Rosamunda!” Svana cried until the servant appeared on the scene with a jewel-encrusted cup of water in hand.
“You’ve slaked your thirst, now I am slaking mine,” Rosamunda shrugged.
“But you drink from my golden cup! The queens packed that for me, as part of my dowry. It isn’t yours to use.”
Again, Rosamunda shrugged. “I would have asked, but I could see you were busy.”
* * * *
Some miles further on, the women found themselves galloping over hill and dale, full speed ahead. Again, the princess ached with delight each time she fell hard against Falada’s broad back. Oh, the pleasure was too much to bear! Bringing the horse to a halt on a grassy plateau, she turned again to rugged Rosamunda. Having occasional problems with short-term memory, Svana had already forgotten the girl's ill words of earlier that day.
"Oh, my dearest Rosamunda,” the princess repeated. “Riding this way has my precious cavern flowing with love nectar. I feel I would die without immediate gratification. I beg you, dismount and take a drink from my cup."
Taking her mistress’ reiteration for insistence rather than forgetfulness, Rosamunda’s resistance wore away a touch. Rather than an outright no she asked, “If I do dismount and drink from your cup, what will you do for me? After all, I don't choose to be your maid."
The day was warm, the sun scorching the hilltop, and Svana knew her maid must be thirsty once more. “I will let you drink from my golden cup afterwards,” the princess offered. “You may fill it with spring water again and again, as many times as you wish, if only you will do me this one kind favor.”
“It’s not a great offer,” Rosamunda considered, “but what the hell? Not much else to do up here.”
And so, dismounting from their horses, the women tumbled onto the green grass. Laughing with delight, Svana rolled onto her back while Rosamunda’s powerful hands pushed up her many skirts. Between the blonde’s snow white thighs, the maid-in-waiting found something she did not expect.
“Why, the bush down here is dark as night! How is that, when your hair is light as gold?” Rosamunda asked.
“I bleach my locks, okay?” Svana growled, wrapping her legs around Rosamunda’s shoulders. “You try being a princess with mousy brown hair! It just doesn’t work. If you’re going to be loved and adored by your subjects, you have to be blonde.”
“All right! Don’t have a stroke,” Rosamunda replied. She hadn’t anticipated the ambush.
No stranger to cuntry ways, the maid-in-waiting nuzzled the wispy thing’s tumescent clit with her wide nose, pressing against it as she licked the base of Svana’s hole. The princess giggled with delight, tossing and turning in the grass. With her tongue flat and firm, Rosamunda licked the juicy folds of princess’ pink and perfect cunt. What refreshment needed she, beyond these tangy waters? Ah, did they ever get her blood flowing! And that sweet and heavy smell of a sopping pussy…Was there anything better?
When Rosamunda stuck two fingers into her mistress’ cunt, Svana dug into her corset of red and gold in search of hard nipples to squeeze. The maid flicked her tongue relentlessly at princess’ clit, standing steady and strong as a soldier at arms. Purring like a kitten, Svana held Rosamunda’s head down, pressing her lean white thighs against her ears until the strong servant could hardly hear. That’s when the maid, petting the spongy spot inside Svana’s hot pussy, began sucking vigorously at her erect pink bud. Kicking her feet in the air above, the batty girl cried out incomprehensible encouragements. Wi
th that sort of a reaction, Rosamunda just kept doing what she was doing. Slippery clit between her lips, she bit down gently upon it every so often until her mistress exploded. Pulling at the fiery woman’s black locks, Svana shrieked like a banshee, soaking her maid’s square chin.
Rosamunda pulled away, wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her simple green gown. In the grass, eyes closed and absorbing the fresh sunlight, Svana lounged like her bones had fallen out. That’s when Rosamunda spotted something she could surely use. The precious hanky stained with b-mom’s blood had fallen upon the ground when Svana was playing with her big tits. Scooping it up as the princess slumbered, the servant woman grabbed the golden cup and set off on foot to fetch some water from the nearby spring. While she was there, the waiting-maid launched the bloodied cloth into the waters and watched as it swirled and whirled and disappeared down the stream.
* * * *
When Svana finally awoke, flesh hot and bothered by the sun’s mighty rays, Rosamunda stood against her mare holding the jewel-encrusted cup.
“Ah,” Svana yawned. “You may go to fetch your drink now, Rosamunda.”
But the waiting-maid laughed haughtily. “I have been and returned from my drink, and now I shall leave on your mare and marry your prince.”
“You’ll do what?” Svana asked, rubbing her eyes. Was this a joke? But Rosamunda was not one for foolishness…
“Check your bosom for that filthy hanky,” the waiting-maid instructed.
It wasn’t there. Neither was it in the grass nearby. What had become of that precious blood?
“I’ve disposed of it and now it’s gone and you are weak and powerless,” Rosamunda continued.
“I am?” Svana asked, very much surprised.
“You are,” the waiting-maid responded. “And so I shall be princess and you shall be servant.”
"Ah, heaven," Svana sighed. She felt no reason to question Rosamunda’s divine knowledge.