For a good time call Rumpelstiltskin...
Sometimes a story will completely get away from me. I'll have one idea for how it will go but then the characters grab my fingers and lead me far beyond my expectations. As J.R.R. Tolkien once said, "the tale grew in the telling." For better or worse, that is what happened with "Rumpelstiltskin & The Golden Promise." I intended it to be a short story of a girl giving up her virginity to an ugly but sensitive creature...and what it turned into was a full on novella with just a little bit of sex in it.
This was sort of what happened with Rapunzel, too, except that story was all about the sex. Even when Rapunzel wasn't getting it on with her handsome intruder she was yearning for it and obsessing about it. So even though there was only one sex scene in the book, it pulled most of the focus. I'm afraid that with Rumpelstiltskin I've written a comedy that happens to revolve around two major sex scenes. Everything else was me playing with the fairy tale and, dare I say it, writing jokes.
I want to know what you think! The "Erotic Fairy Tales" series is probably a lot closer to "erotic romance" than the "romantic erotica" genre, and so I'm curious to know if that strays too far from the smutty Veronica stories that you're used to. This week we'll be back to pure smut with a bundle of new brother/sister shorts. The "Mama's Boys" and "Daddy Issues" bundles have been doing very well, so I want to write another one to see which taboo pairing is your favorite. So far M/S has the lead but daddy is coming up fast.
Rumpelstiltskin & The Golden Promise is now on sale at Smashwords for 25% off! It is a 28,000 word fantasy story with some sex and a lot of stupid jokes. It's also pretty dang sweet. I'm going to miss Lorelle and the Rump.
If you like my erotic fairy tales, the next one in the series will be a lesbian version the little mermaid. So look out for that one in the coming months!
Sprawled on the fur of her living bed and staring at the vaulted ceiling, a single coherent thought went cartwheeling through Lorelle's mind: Edith lied, or she was doing it wrong. Whatever the Rump was doing, he was most certainly doing it right.
Perhaps he chose this position so that she would not be forced to look at his hideous face. That was decent of him, but unnecessary. Her eyes could no longer focus. Perhaps his fingers held her thighs so firmly to prevent her rolling away in shame. If so, it was another thoughtful but unnecessary gesture, for she had forgotten how to use her muscles. The Rump's face was buried in the chestnut thatch of her pubic curls, and at just this moment she was obscenely grateful for its asymmetrical bumps and golden nodules. She felt each one caress the sensitive skin of her vulva and inner thighs, along with every languid lick and probe of his magnificent tongue. What was this unnatural act, she wondered, that drove a man's face into the seat of a woman? Was it known to the natural world or was it merely the province of creatures such as the Rump? As Lorelle twisted on her warm and breathing bed, she clutched her breasts in sudden, surprising delight. "If this is magic," she whimpered to the frigid air, "I would have made this sacrifice ages ago!"
She could feel his wet smile between her thighs. It became a kiss, and then his gold teeth nibbled the sensitive skin around her quim. Feathers of heat slid from her womanhood into her chest, and she did not even mind when his golden finger pressed into her quivering anus. In fact, she ordered him to slide that wet digit deeper into her rectum. When he obliged, she moaned like the wind through the high windows. Was it magic that produced such dirty delight?
She had never known an equal delight, nor a comparable one. She knew the peace that came after a long day of plowing, the ache in her callused fingertips after milking the cows. There were scant hours in the evening for sleep, but this pleasure was distinct from a sweet dream. It was as if her skin were asleep her whole life and only now, suddenly, brutally, wonderfully, alive. The Rump's tongue was wet, it was slimy, and his warm saliva wriggled from her swollen labia to the crack of her ass in a thick, lascivious river. It was like a snowmelt, her quim the valley. Her nipples were as hard and sharp as the iron points of a pitchfork, her breasts inflamed, her skin flushed. When the Rump's lips fastened onto the pink bud that crested her quim, she lost all earthly knowledge. How did a person breathe? Would it take very long to relearn?
This was why the priests warned women not to fornicate, she thought. How could any woman remain pure at heart with this carnal paradise between her thighs? How had it remained a mystery to her for nigh on two decades? When the Rump sucked harder, she dug her nails into his greasy scalp and rode her pelvis into his mouth. "Yes!" she gasped. She wanted him to suck her whole lap into his golden maw. With a sob, with a laugh, with an insane hiccup, she rolled her quim over his lips. When he sucked the juice from her dripping slit she came perilously close to passing out. The sound of him feasting upon her was nearly as titillating as the sensation itself! The Rump took great pleasure in giving her pleasure...and how deeply did this pleasure run?
Her quim ached with a yearning that would not be denied. She breathed only so that she could ask--nay, beg--him to answer it. "Are you prepared?" the Rump murmured from beneath her quivering mound.
"Take me," she whispered. "Now."
He was still a malformed creature, but as he struggled to reclaim his feet she glimpsed his fat cock and shivered with anticipation. It swung between his muscular legs like the pike of some exotic warrior, his balls as large as gunstones. When the bulbous head throbbed, she hissed, and reached for it. There was no grace in her movement, nothing but clumsy greed. With the swollen member gripped tightly in her hand, she spread her legs and drew it to her dripping quim.
Oh, it was cold. When it pushed between her pink lips her belly wriggled in joyous fear. Perhaps Edith had not lied, perhaps it would be terribly painful, but the ache was worse. For her own carnal curiosity, Lorelle demanded satisfaction. The Rump seemed tentative, unsure where to place his hands. She impatiently pulled them over her belly--one cold hand and one gnarled green one, neither comely but both welcome on her burning skin. She drew his fingers higher and bid him massage her downy swells. His thumbs caressed the soft undersides of her breasts, and then he pushed, and stretched, and fucked her.
Agony and joy joined forces. His manhood was large and, yes, punishingly cold, but it was diabolically shaped. Smooth and pulsating, it glided inside her. When his bulb touched the walls of her virgin canal, the satisfaction of being stretched gave her the will to invite him further. There was pain, but what impassioned pain! Her copious juices squelched from her swollen lips as he thrust deeper. Her wide eyes met his as his golden cock filled her quim, and brushed the very border of her heart.