by Simone Leigh
Looking down at me, his face is glossy with moisture, his forehead beaded. “Yes, you’re simple, aren’t you.... A moonchild....” Then, kneeling beside me, he unlaces his breeks, releasing his manhood, and pushes my skirts up around my waist.
Never before have I seen a man thus; his phallus long and thick, hard, pulsing with his lifeblood, ready to spear me.
“Open your legs, Girl. Let me in.”
I obey him, placidly staring up at the green vault above.
His expression is glazed, his face pallid and slick, and as he enters me, his eyes grow wild.
He thrusts, briefly, a dozen times, before he groans and judders, grinding himself against me, then, collapsing, he lies on top of me.
For long moments, there is silence, before, of a sudden, he becomes restless, uneasy.
He withdraws from me, his breathing heavy, then flashing fearful eyes at me, “What have you done?”
I regard him without passion. He is nothing to me. Why would I do anything?
He gasps, as with pain, and repeats, “What have you done? What have you done to me, Girl?”
He clutches at himself, wailing, panic in his voice, then writhing, screams as he clutches and scrabbles at the shrivelling flesh of his groin.
Standing, I re-lace my bodice, stroke down my skirts, noticing a little blood as I do so. Then, finger-combing my hair, I walk away.
Behind me I hear shrieking before, with distance, the sound fades.
______________________
The Queen
“Where is he?”
“He has not returned Madam.”
“Send out the rangers and hunters. Go look for him. Look deep in the forest, in the farthest of the hunting trails.”
______________________
“We have found him, Madam.... He is dead.”
“How did he die?”
“It is hard to say.... His body is wasted.... aged, corrupt. As though he were weeks dead, not days”
“Don’t bring him back into the city.”
“No, Madam. We burned the corpse in the wood.”
______________________
Alba
Night fallen, the forest is a velvet deep. I step, heedless of where I am going, simply.... moving onwards.... away....
The creatures of the night live their normal lives around me. Assuredly, I am one of them. Nonetheless, they avoid me, shying away. An owl, pale in the moonlight, drifting above me, silent as a flake of soot, veers away. A pair of wolves blink at me, their eyes great, golden orbs, then turn and trot away, in search of safer hunting.
One of the demon-folk is here, roaming the World of Night, in the way that they do; a figure of shadow and silver, moving through the trees. Seeing me, he pauses, then silently, bows.
After a moment, he stands, considering me. Head tilted, he raises an arm, pointing through the trees into the sleek darkness.
I nod thanks, continuing my journey.
______________________
There is a small house, some peasant’s cot perhaps, squatting under the boughs, lurking under the canopy of the forest.
I wonder, disinterestedly, what nature of human must dwell here.... Some hermit? One of the dispossessed? Or like myself, an outcast, one of the shunned?
Hunger bites at me. I must find food, endure the torment of eating.
______________________
I have never been in such a place and for a while, the sheer novelty wakens something in me.
Is this.... Excitement? Pleasure? Interest?
I explore the cottage, looking through a scullery, with pots and pans of copper, wooden utensils and trenchers. There are presses containing linens and clothing, a long wooden table with places for seven, and an ante-room, containing seven pallets, sprung with straw, woollen blankets as a covering.
And there is food: bread, cheese, apples, salt pork and jerky. Taking the smallest of the fruits, I chew, trying to stave off the gnawing inside me. And as the pain and the nausea wells, I retreat, taking one of the pallets, fleeing into the unconsciousness of sleep.
______________________
I wake to a noise, one I am unused to: voices, many of them, arguing and shouting.
Disconcerted, for a moment, I simply lie there, staring into the gloom. Then rising, I step out and into a room now lit by firelight, and smoky tallow lamps.
They are small, swarthy creatures, dressed in leathers and hides, showing signs of hard wear, and much work. They are somewhat like men, but I taste that they are not human.
Turning, they fall silent as they see at me; then one, the tallest, bows low before me, and the rest do likewise.
______________________
They make obeisance before me, and call me Queen....
.... or Goddess.
By day, they leave, delving their mines, working their smithies. At night they return, bringing me news and gifts; gems, crafted trinkets and the like, made by their own skills.
They do not fear me, but give me respect. This is new to me, and I enjoy the novelty, revelling in the company of those who will talk with me, entertain me....
.... and who do not sicken and die around me.
______________________
“The Queen will see you dead, Lady.”
“I do not believe she can do that. I cannot die.”
“Nonetheless, Lady, I believe, we believe she will try.”
“I am of the Undying....”
“Yes Lady. But while you are undying, the flesh that houses you could be.... tormented?”
And as the dwarf speaks, the cramps of hunger wrack my gut. Yes, my flesh battles between mortality and.... what?
What am I?
“You must be careful Lady. She will seek to do you harm.”
“Yes, I will be careful.”
______________________
Will she find me here? There is no mirror in the house of the dwarves, but as I wander under the trees, in the still deep of a forest pool, its surface polished and obscure in the green twilight, I see my reflection; my face, my slender body, my eyes....
.... but other eyes stare back out....
______________________
The old woman is at the door, displaying her wares; ribbons and lace, bobbles and buttons, baubles, trinkets and gewgaws.
Sheer frippery. Cheap finery.
I should turn her away.
Why is an old woman here, so deep in the forest?
But always, my clothes have been simply given to me. I have dressed in what was laid out for me. Never have I choices before.
I am fascinated....
I invite her in, offer her a seat.
She is a hag. What youth and beauty she might once have had, has been devoured by the years. Stooped, her back hunched, she hobbles across the room, leaning on a stick, then setting out her cheap goods on the table.
She eyes my clothes, the same clothes I have worn since I arrived. My gown is clean, but ragged and tattered, my bodice shabby and unkempt.
“You should have pretty things, a young girl like you.” she crackles. “I used to be pretty too, and now look at me. Have nice things while you can.”
She ruffles through her trays and bags. “Try this, my Sweet.” She holds up a comb, carved perhaps from ivory, intricately designed. “It will look lovely in such beautiful hair as yours.”
Unconsciously, I stroke my tresses, then realising what I am doing, shake my head. I have combs aplenty. The dwarves make them for me, in bronze and sometimes silver, competing to outdo each other in their skills and artistry.
She sniffs. “This, then.” She holds something up, smiling through the brown stumps that pass for her teeth. Made in satin and lace, and beautifully embroidered, the girdle dangles enticingly. “Try it. See if you like it. Let me help you.”
She unlaces my bodice, slipping the new one around my waist. “This one ties at the back, Sweetings.” she says. “Let me do it for you.”
Her fingers are strong and dexterous, su
rprisingly so in one appearing so decrepit. She pulls the laces tight, firming the garment about me.
“It’s all the fashion in the city.” she says, drawing the strings ever more tightly.
I don’t care for this.
“No.” I say, tearing the thing from me.
The crone looks disappointed.
“Well if I can’t sell you anything Sweets, perhaps a little present?” She fishes in her pocket and pulls something out, an apple.
It is a perfect apple; blushing red on one side, green as grass the other. It smells of spring leaves, and moonlight on a forest pool, and it gleams golden in the candlelight.
The hag looks at me through eyes rheumy, and bloodshot, her skin corrupted by time, hair, skull-white, her flesh wasted with age and ill-use.
And I see my step-mother looking out ....
And as our gazes lock, she knows that I know her.
Still, she offers me the apple, holding it out to me in one trembling palm.
I am weary.
What have I done? That I should remain here, lost in the darkness of the forest? Or perhaps, return to the world of men, that all around me should decay and die while I go on....
“I’m tired.” I say.
“Tired?” The question sits with her, her eyes softening.
“I’ve done nothing....”
“No, Child. You’ve done nothing. But you are what you are, as are we all.”
“I want to rest. To sleep....”
“So, sleep....” Again, she offers me the apple.
And, taking the fruit from her outstretched hand, looking into her eyes as I do so, I bite into the rosy flesh of the fruit....
..... and swallow.
For a moment nothing, but I see in the croned eyes of my step-mother, that she knows what I have done. And she knows that I have chosen this.
And the darkness takes me.
________________________
I wake to light and sunshine.
I am lying on a stone slab, gowned in white, my hands folded across my chest. Sunlight filters through the leaves of vast trees, the sky a vault of blue beyond.
Blinking, I try to rise, but cannot. I am enclosed, imprisoned. Walls surround me, above, and to all sides; invisible walls. Walls of glass.
I beat against the sides, with all my strength, trying to break free, but to no avail.
But while you are undying, the flesh that houses you could be.... tormented?
The words return to haunt me: immortal, undying, entombed for eternity....
Gasping for air I did not believe I needed, my lungs heaving, for the first time in my life, fear takes me.
Screaming, buried alive in this grave of light, the air is thick and close. Weeping in panic, I cannot breathe....
And once more....
______________________
Once more I wake.
It is night-time. Still enclosed, still trapped, nonetheless, the darkness is comforting.
I stare up into blackness studded with diamonds.
The air is chill, my breath curling like smoke about me, misting the glass. But beyond, I see a figure approach; a figure I know. And his pale horse stands behind, a ghost in the night.
He regards me.
“Why do you permit this?”
Still, I do not understand the question, asked of me long ago, when I was a child.
“You are of the Undying.” he says.
I do not understand. Shaking my head, I hold up my hands in entreaty.
Help me....
“You are of the Undying. They cannot hold you.”
And it comes to me, and I understand....
And rising, I abandon the flesh which has caged me for all my short life. Standing, I look back on the husk, lying in its crystal coffin.
My Prince smiles, and he kisses me on my cheek, the chaste kiss of a father.
Then, leading me to his pale horse, “Come Alba. Be with your own kind now.”
______________________
Afterword
As I hope was clear, this story was loosely based on ‘Snow White, another old tale which I wanted to retell with a twist as part of my ‘Tales of Blood and Darkness’ sequence.
There are more such stories coming. Titles planned include:
Green as Envy
Black as Night
Clear as Glass
Gold as the Sun
And More
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‘Red as Blood’
Book One of ‘Tales of Blood and Darkness.’
Little Red Riding Hood?
Belle is eighteen and should be a woman. Terrified that she may be barren and have no future, she confides in her Grandmother.
But as the moon waxes full, she learns that her family has a secret.....
Darkly erotic re-telling of an old fairy tale.
Want to Read Where It All Started?
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“Buying the Virgin. Box Set One”
She Auctioned Herself and Her Virginity
The penniless Charlotte dreams of a bright future, but she has nothing to sell but herself and her virginity. She chooses to auction both to the highest bidder.
What will happen when her owner takes her away?
Who is Richard Haswell?
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“Bought by the Billionaire. Box Set One”
Elizabeth is a student working in a dead-end hotel job to makes ends meet, but dreaming of a better life. When she foolishly decides to shower in the penthouse bathroom of one of the hotel guests, it has consequences she did not expect.
The Master Series is a tale of Cinderella Erotic Romance, a Billionaire, Alpha Male Master, a submissive woman, BDSM and bondage.
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‘Enslaved’
Book One of ‘Submissive to Her Master.’
Dying of Boredom?
What has She to Live for?
Martha is jaded with life to the point of suicide. About to end it all, she encounters a stranger who takes her on a wild ride of passion, convincing her that she has something to live for.
‘Submissive to Her Master’ is a story of Master and Slave, BDSM erotica.
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‘Freedom’
Book One of ‘Call of the Wild.’
A Perfect Life?
Anna is a writer, making her living on the move and living her life as free as a bird.
She seems to have complete freedom and a perfect life. But is everything as it appears?
About the Author
Simone Leigh is English but has lived in Spain for the last few years.
Here, she divides her time between working on her tan, renovating her beautiful villa, writing erotica and swimming naked in her swimming pool.
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Also by Simone Leigh
Bought by the Billionaire
The Master's Maid
The Master's Contract
The Master's Courtesan
The Master's Desires
The Master's Fantasies
The Master's
Obsession
The Master's Sin
The Master's Heart
The Master's Rage
The Master's Revenge
The Master's Wife
Bought by the Billionaire Box Set
Bought by the Billionaire. Box Set One. Books 1-6
The Master Series. Box Set 2. Books 7-10
Buying the Virgin
The Virgin - Auctioned
The Virgin - Sold
The Virgin No More
The Virgin Unleashed
The Virgin - Fulfilled
The Virgin's Holiday
The Virgin's Valentines
The Virgin's Master
The Virgin's Lover
The Virgin's Fantasies
The Virgin's Choices
The Virgin's Summer - Part One
The Virgin's Summer - Part Two
The Virgin's Summer - Part Three
The Virgin and the Masters - Part One
The Virgin and the Masters, Part Two
The Virgin and the Masters - Part Three
The Virgin and the Masters - Part Four
The Virgin and the Masters - Part Five
The Virgin and the Masters - Part Six
The Virgin's Summer - Part Four
Buying the Virgin Box Set
Buying the Virgin - Box Set One
Buying the Virgin - Box Set Two
Buying the Virgin - Box Set Three - The Virgin's Summer
Buying the Virgin - Box Set Four - The Virgin and the Masters
Call of the Wild
Freedom
Thralldom
Retribution
Revelation
Redemption