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Faerie Tale 1
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Faerie Tale I
My parents always said I was a changeling.
I was born in Ireland, 18 years ago, only 2 years before my parents came to the
to the United States. I've always grown up with the stories of the wee
folke and their mischief, as well as the more serious of the Folke. As for
myself, my parents named me Erinn, after their beloved land, and I grew up
a woodland child. My parents moved to the state of Maine, here in the US,
in a rural town. My father bought a house with as much land as we ever thought
a man should own, and I had a pony from the time I could walk. And I was
always outside, riding in the woods, curled up in a tree reading, swimming
in the pond. Until I grew up, that is.
When puberty came upon me, and with it the knowledge that I had to at
least *try* to fit in with the girls at school, should I ever want a
boy to look at me, I tried to be less of a tomboy and took to wearing
skirts and heels, and speaking nicely. The ways grated on me, and I wanted
little more than to throw on a pair of jeans saddle up Brightwind and
ride away for months at a time. During school I could see the forest
and it called to me, I swear it.
When I graduated from high school last June, my parents gave me a trip to
visit my grandparents, who were still in Ireland, for my birthday. I arrived
a month ago and I do love it here. 'Tis beautiful and fresh, and makes me
want to believe the stories about the little folk.
And though I am not sure about the existance of the little folk, I must
admit to a belief in magic. For what else could it have been?
I had ridden my grandfather's horse out to the woods, and was sitting below
a tree, on the banks of the river. I had my shoes off, dangling my toes
in the water, and I wore cutoffs and a t-shirt besides that. I longed to
strip entirely and immerse myself in the cool stream, and the more I thought
about it, the better the idea sounded. Finally, looking and listening c
carefully until I was positive no one was near, I stripped and tossed the t-s
t-shirt and shorts by my sneakers on the ground.
The water was cool, and pleasing in the erotic way its gentle motion lapped
against my hot skin. I swam for a while, until a chill began to take the
pleasure away, and then stepped out, the water dripping from my skin, to
sit on a rock overlooking the stream.
I spun 'round when I heard the crack of a footstep on branches behind me.
Standing before me was a huge brawn of a man, and carrying a sword, I
swear it! He was over six feet tall, with dark hair and sun-darkened skin.
The scruff of a few day old beard was on his chin, and his arms were
sinewy with muscles well-used. He was dressed strangely, in what
appeared to be hard leather over his chest and softer leathers underneath.
At his side hung a small sword and a pack, and across his back I could see
the tip of a very large sword.
I think my mouth fell open in surprise, as I sat there, dripping wet and naked,
unable to say a word to this apparition before me.
When he spoke, his voice was deep and rumbling, and very very pleasant.
"Are you a nymph?" he asked, chuckling. "Risen, seductive and wet from
the waters?"
I couldn't do more than stare, still.
He walked closer to me, and knelt so that his head was level with mine. "'Tis
said that to catch a nymph is luck, but to lie with one means death. Your
beauty does bewitch a man's loins, though."
*What* is he saying? I thought to myself. I couldn't believe he had just called
me beautiful. His eyes were still fastened on mine and my breath felt short.
There seemed to be some sort of message in his eyes and my body was answering,
oh god, was it answering.
The stranger stood and unfastened the leather thong holding his scabbard onto
his back and then slowly lowered it to the ground. My eyes watched his every
move, my cheeks growing warm with where my thoughts wandered. Slowly, and
with great care for his possessions, he divested himself of his weaponry.
Well, almost all his weaponry. I smiled at my thought.
Glancing up, his hands about to unfasten the hard leather that covered his
broad chest, he caught my eyes and smiled as I blushed.
"A shy member of the folke," he chuckled. "Well, I think I'll just have me
a wee bit of a swim here with you, if that be fine?"
I nodded, still unable to speak. I had barely heard what he had called me,
and slowly it dawned... he thought I was one of the faerie folke! He thought
I was a nymph, a water nymph most likely.
My train of thought derailed as he pulled his soft leather jersey over
his head, revealing broad shoulders, also sun-bronzed and strong. He
hooked a hand over the waistband of his trousers and quickly drew them down
over his narrow hips. My breath caught in my throat as he stood before me,
naked and strong, his intentions clear.
His eyes followed my gaze to that part of him which stood out stiff and
long from his loins, then he caught my eyes in his again. "A hungry
nymph, are ye? Well, I think a wee bit of a swim first, then we'll
discuss other matters."
He walked up onto the rock by me and then down into the water. Once in he
called to me, "Jump, nymph! And I'll catch ye!"
It was as if I were under a spell. I stood, slowly, seductively, and
then waited before jumping. I landed in his arms, a bit harder than either of
us intended, knocking him back into the shallow water. We landed in a tangled
heap, me on his lap feeling his hardness against the softness of my bottom.
I lifted my eyes shyly to his face.
He was staring at me again, and before I could react he had pinned my shoulderss
beneath his hands and claimed my mouth for a kiss. His lips moved against mine,
with a deep hunger, and my lips parted automatically to allow his tongue
entrance. His tongue slid into my mouth, caressing the roof, sliding along
and discovering every crevace as it fenced with my own tongue. I moaned
against his mouth and felt him grow harder beneath me, if that were possible.
When are lips finally broke apart, he growled huskily, "If to lie with a nymph
is death, then 'tis a death I gladly welcome!" His lips were on mine again
so quickly, and one hand slid down to capture my breast.
His hands weren't as rough as I expected as they tantalized each nipple. His
his fingers rolled the tender nubs to hard points, his thumbs teasing the
tips while he continued to thrust his tongue deep inside my mouth.
I leaned forward, my breasts aching for more, and I felt his mouth leave
mine to trail a firey path down the edge of my throat to the hollow at
the base of my neck, then finally to my breasts. He teased me still,
his mouth and tongue caressing the tops of my breasts, then the sides, then
licking up the hollow between the two. My hands came up and my fingers
entwined in his hair and I guided his head until he caught one nipple
between his teeth.
The sensation was ecstasy! I moaned, sliding my hips against his, the feel
of the water lapping over us adding to the sensation. His mouth still locked
to my breast, suckling deep, his hands guided my feet until I sat more
comfortable on his lap, one leg on either side of him.
His hands began to caress the rest of my body as his mouth continued to
play havoc with my senses, tasting first one nipple, then the other,
then back again. His hands slid over the curve of my waist, down across
my smooth buttocks to caress the shape of my ass, then forward until they
found my warm slit, firey to the touch.
He slid one finger deep inside me, and I moved against it. He lifted his
mouth back to mine, and with one hand on my breast he slid his other finger
deeper, while the thumb of the hand carressed the throbbing nodule of my
desire. My hips moved against his hand, and I moaned my pleasure as he
thrust his fingers deeper and deeper.
I was about to go over the edge when he took his fingers from me. I think
I cried out, but the loss wasn't for long as he lifted my hips and settled
me gently against his throbbing member. He positioned me carefully and I
slid down, feeling him hard and thick, filling me until I thought I would
split. We stayed still for a moment, our hands caressing each others body's,
our tongues fencing within our mouths. Then slowly, oh so slowly, we began
to move.
He slid in and out, deeper with every thrust. I could feel myself grow
damper, and I know I moaned and whimpered with pleasure. His fingers
slipped between us, caressing that nodule until I suddenly felt spasms
of pleasure wash over me and cried out in delight.
As I started to come I felt his arms stiffen around me as he thrust deep,
and felt the warmth of his juices within me.
We looked at each other, and he commented softly, "'Tis death to lie with
a nymph for she exhausts you."
I laughed as he picked me up and carried me back to the rock, lieing me down
beside him. My head on his shoulder, my body curved to the contours
of his, I fell asleep.
When I awoke, the sun was lower in the sky, my hair ws dry and I was again
fully clothed except for the sneakers I had removed to dangle my feet
in the stream. Except for an extreme exhaustion, I could find no sign
that I hadn't dreamed the entire thing.
But as a funny coincidence, my Irish relatives have taken to calling me
wood nymph, for as the sun bleaches my hair it is gaining greenish tints.
Ah well, I do have six more weeks in this magic land, and perhaps I
can find the magic once again...?
D-Singer
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