Circe closed her eyes with a moan and turned her face to one side once more, pressing her cheek against the sheet. The Woodsman slowly drew the head of his cock down the length of her pussy, and then rubbed it back up once more, feeling her lips part beneath him, feeling the slender firmness of her clit move from one side to the other beneath him. Back and forth he moved his cock, feeling an almost cruel desire to make her come, to drive her to ecstasy as she had driven him. She closed her eyes and groaned once more, turning her face to the other side, bringing one hand up to cup her breast and the other to her mouth, slipping the tip of her pinky finger between her lips. On and on he went, inexorably, rubbing his cock up and down her clit till finally he leaned back and broke contact with her. She moaned for awhile longer, and then stilled and opened her eyes and looked at him.
He took his cock in his hand once more and leaned forward and this time pressed the head of his cock between her lips. They pushed back before it, and then slowly slipped around his head so that he felt her hot wetness beneath. Releasing her other leg, he gripped her by the hips, holding her tight as he slowly, ever so agonizingly slowly, slid himself into her pussy. She arched her back, pushing down on her shoulders and angling her hips so that she opened up before his width, and slowly, holding her tightly, he slid deeper into her. Still he felt that cold control, that distance, that cruel detachment. Deeper he slid, watching her face all the while. Circe closed her eyes and squeezed her nipple tight, pressing her large breast against her chest as she bit her lower lip. Deeper he slid, his veined length disappearing inside her, until finally he lost his patience and jerked forward, burying himself to the haft within her.
Circe let out a shocked cry, and her dark blue eyes flared open. Holding her tight by the hips, the Woodsman began to slowly gyrate his hips, moving and grinding about in a small circle, feeling his engorged length deep within her, feeling himself rub against her soft ridges, so deep that his balls were pressed against her buttocks, that her clit was buried in the hair at the base of his shaft. He lifted her completely of the bed and held her to him, and she pressed back against the bed, need and hunger in her eyes, and he saw that the amusement was gone, that detachment, that she was fully here, with him, needing him, needing his cock, wanting it, all of it.
The Woodsman pulled back, watched her lips hug his shaft as he retracted, and then with firm power slid deep once more to the hilt. Circe gasped, and again he pulled back. She felt divine around his cock, silken and smooth and wet and heavenly, not as tight as her throat but in some manner better, matching him perfectly, receiving each thrust with pleasure. Still he held onto his control. Each thrust was measured, rough, to the base of his cock, and then slowly back out, slowly, drawing forth his glistening member, until his head was just encased by her delicate lips and then he'd pause, as if hesitating, and then drive it home again, her whole body shaking, her breasts rocking, her head turning from one side to the other, moaning, groaning, gasping as he drove her mad.
He would not relent, did not want to relent, but she felt too perfect. His own desire was mounting, his own need. That fire was burning once more in his cock, in its root deep within him, and he gripped her tighter around the hips in an attempt to control himself, burying his fingers cruelly in her flesh as he did so. She laughed, and he saw that she liked the pain, the sting of his grip, and this only pushed him farther. Again and again he rammed his veined cock deep into her, and again and again he slowly pulled free. Circe held her breasts, kneading the nipples, and a thin sheen of sweat appeared over her smooth skin. Sweat was burning across the Woodsman's forehead now, stinging as it ran into his eyes, running down his back and over his chest. Deeper and deeper, pounding now, rhythmic and potent, over and over again into her he slid, until she began to let out cries of pleasure, of need, losing her sense of self, her control. Again and again, faster and harder he went into her, until at last he was pulling out as fast as he was ramming home, slipping his hands down and around to grasp her round ass cheeks and leaning back and pulling her against him.
Over and over he fucked her until he felt a violent wall of red and blackness rising up beneath his eyes, till his cries were joined with hers, the bed shaking and jumping and her legs tightening around him. He felt her convulse beneath him, great rolling clenches of her pussy around his dick, and he knew in some far off corner of his mind that she was coming, coming so hard she was crying out endlessly, and he couldn't stop, didn't want to stop, continued to fuck her and each thrust drove her orgasm to greater heights, redoubled their intensity and made her writhe all the more.
He felt his orgasm approaching like an avalanche, a force of nature, and in that moment he saw his wife, her face, how she would look as she would come, how her eyes would flutter closed and she would gasp and claw at his shoulders, and with a great roar he exploded deep within Circe, pulling her so tight against himself that he felt melded to her, locked forever in that one eternal moment that rolled on and on as he jerked and spasmed within her depths, unleashing jet after jet of cum into her, feeling overcome, overwhelmed, agonized. He cried out, was held frozen at the peak, the trembling apex of his being, and then fell forward as if felled by his own ax and collapsed next to Circe's gasping body.
The Woodsman lay there, face pressed into the sheets, shuddering and gasping for breath, Circe's legs still wrapped around him, his cock still buried deep within her. He felt her arms around him, her lips on his neck, but he was oblivious to her touch, shivering and fevered as his orgasm tolled through his being like the ringing of a great bell. He was lost, walking alone through dark woods, feverish and adrift, and it was only with great effort and Circe's caresses that he came back to himself, from searching for the shade of his wife between those shadowy trees.
Finally he rolled over, slipping free from Circe's pussy as he did so, to lie on his back and gaze up at the ceiling. Circe lay beside him, running her hand over her body, touching her breasts, her nipples, moving her fingers down her stomach to caress her thigh, and finally she sat up, her golden hair sliding free from beneath the Woodsman as she did so. She looked down at his great muscled form, and traced the ridges of his stomach, the crease between his chest muscles, his broad shoulders, and his firm jaw. He looked up at her, and could not read her dark eyes, could not tell what lay within their enigmatic depths.
"Oh, my Woodsman," she whispered. "That was beautiful, savage, and powerful. That was everything I had hoped for, desire, for this first night at any rate."
"First night?" The Woodsman propped himself up on his elbow and stared at her. Her porcelain skin almost glowed in the gloom. He looked about the bedroom - when had the lights dimmed so? He snapped his eyes back to her, lucidity flowing back along with a sense of wrongness. "What do you mean?"
Her smile was darkly amused once more. "You know exactly what I mean, my love. You are mine. You are mine tonight, tomorrow night, and for every night thereafter."
The Woodsman reached up and gripped Circe by the wrist, squeezing hard. Her smile grew only more wicked. "We had a deal."
"I lied." She arched an eyebrow at him, pleased by her revelation. "You cannot leave me. Only I can change your son back into a person, and you cannot force me to do so. Thus you must stay and please me until I give you permission to leave."
The Woodsman snarled and rose up to his knees, taking Circe by both wrists and drawing her close. "You promised! Release him now."
Circe smiled up at him. "Or?"
The Woodsman felt such rage burn within him that he shook her, once, twice, and never did her smile slip. "Don't make me force you. But I will. I will if you give me no choice."
"Oh, my love, my delicious fool. Do you think it that easy?" Slowly, one by one, the Woodsman felt his fingers curl back from around her wrist, peeled away by an invisible force. Leaning forward, gritting his teeth, he strained against her magic, but could not resist. His hands opened, and then a great force shoved against his chest, knocking him right out of the bed to crash onto the floor.
He lay there, stunned, and then slowly rolled to his side and pushed himself up.
Circe sat on the bed, leaning on one arm, her hair falling about her fair form and clothing her in gold. She stared at him through her lowered lashes. "You are mine. Now you know it. The next time you try to force me, I will not be so gentle. You are free to leave whenever you wish - I shall not bar my door. But know that if you leave, you abandon your son."
"Curse you," said the Woodsman, rising to his feet. He stood naked before her, but completely uncaring. "Curse you for a liar and a bitch."
"Come now, my love. Those aren't the words to use with your mistress." Her eyes flashed, and she pointed at the door. "Now leave. You'll find a room prepared for you at the end of the hall. A hot bath has been poured. Fresh clothing laid out. Bathe, relax, ponder the unfairness of your situation, and then sleep. Tomorrow night I shall have need of you, and our sport will not be so tame."
The Woodsman blinked. Just like that he was being ordered from her sight. He half turned to the dark door, and then looked back at her. "Please. I'm asking you. Please let my son and I go."
Circe held his gaze and for a long, aching moment, the Woodsman thought there might be a chance she would relent. And then she laughed and shook her head. "Only when I am bored with you. Though if I ever suspect that you are putting forth less than your best effort, I shall expel you from my home, and leave your boy as he is. So do not think to bore me quickly so as to escape. Am I clear, my love?"
The Woodsman stared at Circe with undisguised hatred, and then reached down for his ax. He lifted it, hefted it, examined the blade with his thumb, and then propped it over his shoulder. "As you command, Circe." His voice was as cold as his blade, and without another look, he turned and walked out the door.
The Woodsman walked down the dark hall, and saw that a new door stood open and illuminated. He paused, and summoned the memory of his wife's face. No matter what I have to do, he said to her, I will find him. And I will bring him home.
Read Book 2:
THE THREE PRINCESSES
Book 2 in The Trials of the Woodsman, a full length novella at 20,000 words
The Woodsman lies within the sorceress Circe's thrall. Trapped by her magic and ensnared by her lies, he fights off despair as he seeks to save his son. Yet what hope can one man have against such a powerful, wicked, and beautifully depraved being?
What hope there is lies with Circe's three servants, princesses all now clad in sackcloth and forced to do their mistress's bidding. Regal, poised, and impossibly gorgeous, each princess must tend to the Woodsman and prepare him for his night with Circe.
Yet they also guard a secret. A secret that may give the Woodsman the edge he needs to win his freedom and liberate his son. All he has to do is pay their price, but oh, their demands are wicked indeed...
Warning: This title contains graphic language.
20,000 word erotic novella
Read THE THREE PRINCESSES
COMING SOON:
THE SEDUCTION OF CIRCE
BOOK 3 IN THE TRIALS OF THE WOODSMAN
*****
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Other Works by
Cassie Wright
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