Paranormal Erotica Box Set - Giselle Renarde - ebook
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Take an anthology of paranormal erotic romance BDSM stories, add a collection brimming with lesbian vampires and shapeshifters, top it off with a secret solstice sacrifice, and what have you got? The Paranormal Erotica Box Set! From the bisexual vampire hairdressers of Blood Addict to the blood-thirsty lesbians of Girls Gone Carnal, there's a story to suit every taste in this 65,000+ word compilation of 18 sexy stories.  Got a taste for threesomes? Gothic horror? Bondage? Gender transformation? Succubi? Fairies and legends? You'll find it all, and so much more, in this great new collection!

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Giselle Renarde Erotica

Paranormal Erotica Box Set: Vampires, Shifters, and Fairy Tales for Adults

© 2014 by Giselle Renarde

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be access by minors.

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Cover design © 2014 Giselle Renarde

First Edition October 2014

Short stories in this collections have been previously published in the anthologies “Blood Addict” and “Girls Gone Carnal” (eXcessica Publishing). “Secrets of the Solstice Sacrifice” was first published by lyd Alterotica. “Simple” originally appeared in Slave for Love (Ravenous Romance). “Neither Love Nor Money” originally appeared in Seductress (Cleis Press).

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Table of Contents

Disclaimer

Paranormal Erotica Box Set: | Vampires, Shifters, and Fairy Tales for Adults | By Giselle Renarde

Jungfrau

Milady’s Bath | By Giselle Renarde

A Jealous God

~Mrs. Fox and the Cat of Nine Tails~

Blood Addict

A Wolf in Grandmother’s Clothing | By Giselle Renarde

Sneak | By Giselle Renarde

The Mesmerist and the Mare

~Blood Lust~

Princess of the Ravens

To Dream of Her True Love's Face | By Giselle Renarde

Beneath the Ice

~Taken From Behind~

Simple

~Blood Whore~

Neither Love Nor Money

~Sparrow Takes Flight~

Secrets of the Solstice Sacrifice | By Giselle Renarde | Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

The End

Also By Giselle Renarde

Paranormal Erotica Box Set:

Vampires, Shifters, and Fairy Tales for Adults

By Giselle Renarde

Jungfrau

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Once upon a time, there was a maiden called Jungfrau who lived alone at the summit of a great mountain range.  As she grew into womanhood, Jungfrau remained blissfully unaware of the dangers that might befall a beautiful girl.  Monche, the monk who lived on the mountain peak next to hers, observed her insouciance and questioned her safety.  He knew that, along this very mountain range, there lived an ogre who would not hesitate before interfering with such a fair maiden.

“Jungfrau,” Monche called to her.  When she did not respond, the monk began a slow trek in her direction. “Jungfrau?  Fair maiden, I must speak with you.”

Finally, Jungfrau heard his words and turned.  She smiled at him, and her lips were like roses glistening with honey sweetness.  In her hands, she held edelweiss and mountain flowers, which only an innocent might find beneath the mountain’s snow.  Holding them out for Monche to see, she said, “Look what I found, kind neighbour.”

“Beautiful,” Monche said, feeling the ache of that beauty in his gut.

Jungfrau stood before him in a long white robe, which caught the breeze’s whims and fluttered around her ankles.  Her snow-white hair glistened in the daytime sun as she brought her bouquet close to her face and took in their fragrance.  She closed her eyes and looked as though ecstasy had found her in that handful of edelweiss.

“Maiden,” Monche said.  His impulses raged below the surface, but he kept his need in check as a monk must do.  “Maiden, are you not concerned for your safety, all alone on this mountain?”

Her eyes grew round and wide. “What is there to be frightened of?”

“The ogre,” Monche blurted.  “I don’t mean to alarm you, but he is a beast of a man and lives on the peak next to mine.  I would never forgive myself if I failed to keep you safe.”

Jungfrau nodded slowly, and then gazed up at her house on the hill.  “Will the ogre find me there?”

“He could.”  Monche’s heart raced.  “And, worse yet, the ogre has the power to enchant you.  You cannot trust your own senses, dear maiden.  You might give yourself to him and not know why.”

The edelweiss fell from her hands.  “Oh dear,” she said.  “What can I do to prevent such an attack?”

“Come with me,” the monk suggested.  “I will keep you safe.”

Jungfrau gazed longingly at her mountain, and sighed in resignation.  When she took his hand and followed, Monche’s groin ached most devilishly.

He showed her to his chamber, which was little more than a very large cave hollow.  She seemed reluctant as she entered, afraid of the darkness and the heaviness of the stone all around.

“It’s all right,” Monche said to her.  “I will not hurt you, Jungfrau.”

“Oh, I didn’t think...”  She trailed off, but her cheeks burned red and she fidgeted a great deal, touching her dress, scuffing the cavern floor.  “Yes, I know.  You’re a monk.”

“That doesn’t mean to say I have succeeded in abandoning my impulses,” he confessed as he threw off his robes.

Jungfrau gasped, stepping away until her back met the cavern wall.  She covered her eyes and then slowly uncovered them.  Her jaw dropped and she asked, “What is that?”

She pointed between his legs.

“You’ve heard of a chastity belt?” he asked, and she nodded.  “Well, this is the same idea, but for a man.  I’ve bound myself in leather, you see.  It’s inescapable unless I take a knife to it, but the danger of cutting my sensitive flesh is far too great.  You are safe with me, maiden, but are you safe with yourself?”

A rosy blush crossed her cheeks, and she pressed both hands to her face.  “Should I be wearing a chastity belt too, do you think?”

Monche had already considered this question at great length.  “I have a better idea for you, Jungfrau.  I propose securing you to the wall of my cavern so that you may never succumb to the ogre’s evil intentions.”

Jungfrau turned her pretty head and gazed at the metal rings Monche had secured to the stone.  “It’s for the best, you think?”

Monche nodded solemnly.  “You can trust no one but me, fair maiden.  Only I may guard you without succumbing to my own desires.”

Dutiful to her dignity, Jungfrau agreed to be bound within Monche’s dark cavern.  Though he used the softest of ropes, she whimpered every time he wrapped them around her wrists.

“I apologize,” Monche offered.  “Am I hurting you?”

“My freedom,” she whispered, hanging her head down low.  Her long hair splayed against her white gown.  “What have I gained in losing it?”

“Safety,” he told her, securing her wrists to the metal anchors.  He only hoped this was true. In his heart, he cared very much for her well-being, even if his reason for bringing her to this place was less than noble.

“You promise to keep me safe?” she begged.

He tied her ankles together, and she flinched each time his fingers brushed her skin.  “I will do my utmost to protect you, Jungfrau.”

When she was perfectly secured and unable to escape, her tears flowed softly.  They transformed into sobs as minutes drew into hours, and it was then Monche stepped out of his cave to watch for Eiger.  Her cries would surely to draw him.  It was only a matter of time.

The leather-bound muscle between Monche’s legs twitched in anticipation.

There!  Was that him, that hulking black mass making its way up the rocky mountain path?  Yes, it must be.  Finally, after years of trying, Monche had succeeded in summoning Eiger to his peak.  All it took was a damsel in distress to gain the ogre’s interest.

Monche’s naked flesh pricked as he cowered falsely into the cave.  Jungfrau gasped at his apparition, and she bit her lip when he said, “The ogre is coming!”

“What shall we do?”

“Don’t fret.”  Monche’s heart thundered in his chest as Jungfrau’s breasts rose and fell.  “I will ensure your safety.”

A dark cloud passed by the entryway, and the ogre’s form appeared outside the cave.  Monche’s door wasn’t large enough for Eiger to pass through, but the ogre didn’t let a bit of rock stand between him and a whimpering Jungfrau.  He smashed his fist against it, bringing a cascade of stone tumbling down the mountainside.  Monche cowered in the corner with his rear in the air, closing his ears to Jungfrau’s tortured screams.

“Monster!”  Eiger’s deep voice rumbled as he stepped into Monche’s cavern.  “Using an innocent young woman as bait to beckon me to your mountain?  And you call yourself a monk!  There is nothing holy about you.”

Silence cradled the cave as Eiger seethed.  It was Jungfrau who first spoke, asking, “Bait?  What does the ogre mean, dear neighbour?”

“You are too young to understand,” the ogre replied.

“I am not so young!” she replied, petulantly.

Eiger began untying the maiden before saying, “Very well, then.  Your neighbour has used you to summon me to his lair.  For years, he’s harboured a lust for this humble ogre, and I have rejected his advances continuously.  But he’s a clever man, and he knew if heard a woman in distress I would investigate.”

“Oh it’s true, it’s all true!” Monche cried, climbing the wall and sticking his bare ass in Eiger’s direction.  “Punish me for my sins, Eiger.  Use this jelly to ease a path inside my base.  Drive the demons from me!”

Monche glanced over his shoulder in time to watch Jungfrau drop to her knees, dirtying her white dress against the cavern floor.  Eiger took her wrists between his palms and rubbed them gently.  Their tender connection became so evident Monche could feel their nervous adoration all the way across the room.

“Let me carry you home, dear maiden.”  Eiger stoked her hair with his giant hand.  “Your arms and legs must ache from being strung up. I will prepare a meal while you rest, and bring tea to your lips until you are yourself again.”

Jungfrau blinked rapidly, and Monche recognized the sentiment in her gaze.  Her lips pursed when she glanced from Eiger to Monche.  He had used her, it was true, but in the process he’d inadvertently brought love into her life and she seemed to recognize that fact.  She looked to Eiger and said, “Do as the duplicitous monk desires.”

The ogre gasped as Jungfrau arched up and pressed her cheek against the crotch of his torn suede trousers.  Her eyes rolled back as she no doubt sensed the mass of his girth, and Eiger groaned unapologetically.

“Tie the monk up with rope,” Jungfrau encouraged.  “Fold him over and drive out the demons.”

“But why?” Eiger asked as the young woman rubbed her cheek across his obvious erection.

“Because,” she explained, “if you don’t satisfy him now he will only plot to steal you away once I make you my own.”

The ogre seemed shocked at such a revelation.  “A beautiful girl like you would make me your own?”

Jungfrau smiled coyly and lowered her eyes. “If you will be mine.”

The giant stood proud and tall, his throbbing girth creating a visible bulge beneath his pants.  When he turned slowly toward the corner of the cave, Monche’s cock fought its leather cage and lost.  The casing was far too tight to allow for erections, but that was its purpose, after all.

His knees shook as Eiger stormed across the cave.  When the brutish ogre’s hands met his shoulders, he knew ecstasy was not far off.

The girl drew closer, slithering across the cavern floor and trailing thick black ropes.  Monche let his arms fall forward until his fingers brushed his toes.  Jungfrau snatched them up, seeming not so innocent as she tied his wrists to his ankles.  A strange sort of fire blazed in her eyes as she secured them tightly, much tighter than he’d have thought her capable.  Perhaps it was retribution, or perhaps she shared his lusty anticipation.

Monche’s nose met his shin as Jungfrau tied his binds.  He could no longer see her, and he could only just make out his burly neighbour approaching from behind.

“Are you certain this is your wish?” Eiger asked.

“I am,” Jungfrau replied.  Her voice was husky and rich.  “The watching will do me good.”

Monche saw Eiger’s shorts drop to his ankles, but he could not catch sight of the thing he most wished for.  Jungfrau spotted it, no doubt, because she gasped and then cooed, crawling across the floor to fondle the ogre.

“It’s huge,” she said, slathering jelly all over the neighbour’s cock.  “What a treat you’ll give our wretched monk.  He will surely be satisfied when you’ve driven this goodly shaft through him.”

“He will be satisfied or he will be dead.”  Eiger’s dark tone rang ominously through Monche’s gut as the fleshy tip met his hole.

Monche’s calves strained under the stretch.  His wrists itched though the rope holding them to his ankles was smooth.  Jungfrau had secured him so rightly he could not move in any direction.  Doubled over, he sensed his tight hole clamping.  He wished it open when Eiger’s huge hands landed on his cheeks, parting them widely.

“Are you ready, you devilish man who calls himself a monk?”

Eiger’s voice made him tremble, and he whimpered, “I am not devilish, but desperate.  I have wanted this moment, needed it and kept it inside my fantasy mind.”

“You would do anything to feel the ogre inside you?” Jungfrau asked in a tone as lusty as any common whore.

“Yes, I would do anything!” Monche answered.  “Anything, anything in the world!”

In seconds, the maiden was perched beneath Monche’s face, her back and her feet on the cavern floor, her hips tilted toward his mouth.  Her naked cunt dripped with the juices of female arousal.  If Monche’s cock had the freedom to grow, it would certainly have done so.

“If you want the ogre inside you, you must press your lips to mine,” Jungfrau bid.  “Kiss me, so-called monk.  Make me scream.”

The girl’s rear rested against Monche’s shins and forearms, and he’d most certainly have tumbled backward if not for Eiger propping him up.  He extended his tongue, though he was wretchedly unsure of himself.  His taste had never much been for women’s parts, but he would satisfy Jungfrau a hundred times over if his reward was a giant.

Monche teased the girl’s red bud and she squirmed beneath his face, begging for more.  He pressed his tongue against her blazing flesh and she moaned so forceful he began to enjoy himself.  It certainly was a compliment that she reacted with such lust.  Lapping slowly, he swallowed her juices while Eiger slathered his hole with more jelly.  He hardly knew where to place his focus.

When Eiger infiltrated Monche’s ass, there was no longer any question.  Pain shot through him like lightning, from the tight ring of elastic muscle around his hole and down his legs, buzzing like bee stings in his fingers and toes.  If the ogre hadn’t been holding him upright, he would have fallen over. There was no escaping the sensation.  He reminded himself he’d asked for this as Jungfrau forced her cunt against his mouth, rubbing furiously on his tongue.

“Will you be satisfied when I’m finished with you?” Eiger asked as he rammed his monstrous cock farther into Monche’s ass. “Or will you be dead?”

“I’m not yet certain.”  Monche spoke against Jungfrau’s fragrant cunt.

She grabbed his head, forcing him flush to her heat.  “Make me scream, wretched monk.  You are nothing but meat.”

“Meat,” Eiger repeated as he pummelled Monche’s hole with that glorious cock.  “Yes, I like that, Jungfrau.  He is not a monk, but a hot slab of meat.”

“A tongue for me,” the girl agreed, thrusting her cunt against his face with such force he could scarcely breathe.  “And a hole for you.”

Eiger laugher thunderously as he held Monche’s cheeks and drove himself inside that place of want and ache.  “Perhaps we should keep this wretched monk after we marry.”

“Keep him as meat,” she answered, giving in to screams of pleasure as she thrust her flesh against his tongue.  “Yes, my ogre, oh yes we shall!”

“Yes we shall!”  Eigre ground his cock balls-deep into Monche’s aching hole and let out a tortured groan that shook the cavern.

A few more rocks came loose around the entryway, tumbling down the mountain as the young maiden and the ogre satisfied their lusts with Monche’s needful body.  When they were though with him, his chin ran with the maiden’s juices and his asshole drowned in the ogre’s seed.  The unlikely pair found each other’s arms like young lovers before finally untying the exhausted Monche.  He spilled to the floor and smiled as they kissed.

On the day of their wedding, the mountains rejoiced at the joining of Jungfrau and the ogre.  Their loving union perplexed only those who had never heard the story of their meeting, when Eiger rescued Jungfrau from the monk who stood between them.  And, though Monche would often find himself as the meat in the middle of their happy marriage, he would never hope to come between them again.

Milady’s Bath

By Giselle Renarde

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No sense asking me why she does it.

Why scamper out the window every time the moon is full?  Why flee the comforts of a warm feather bed knowing she’ll return with her gown tattered and her flesh torn to shreds?

Like I said, I’m not the one to ask.  I’ve never lusted for any man, and certainly not with such hearty devotion as Milady lusts for that beast she seeks to tame.  If ever I had sought the rough touch of man, I might understand why she puts herself in harm’s way every second fortnight.  If my inclinations were anything like hers, I wouldn’t be so quick to judge.  I also wouldn’t be so quick to run her bath on those nights she returns from the forest, wounded, but happy as a meadowlark.

She wakes me by the rustle of her skirts if I’ve fallen asleep, but it’s rare I should slumber on nights Milady sets off into the woods.  I worry about her something dreadful when she’s away.  And I always know when she’s gone because, though it in’t the custom with proper folk, I end my day in Milady’s bedchamber.

Most girls who work in great houses share sleeping quarters with other maids. Those lodgings are far away from the family’s own rooms.  I am far luckier than all those other chambermaids and servants.  Me, I share a bed with the girl I adore more than anything else in the world: Milady, my love.

Ever since she was young, Milady had a wild streak in her.  She was always chasing after the boys, and the boys had a name for her I’m sworn never to repeat.  The Lord and Lady, her ma and pa, traveled the world over without the poor girl.  They often visited the continent, and even ventured so far as India and Africa.  I don’t know what they were looking for in all those countries out there, but it seemed to me they’d have been just as happy staying home with their daughter.

When Milady grew into adulthood, her ma and pa tried to make her prim and proper like themselves, but she wouldn’t hear of it.  She loved young men below her station, and none of her parents’ persuasions would change that.  The Lord and Lady then enlisted my service.  I was ‘round about Milady’s age, always a shy girl, but a polite and modest maid.  Also, I never broke vases like our Rose always managed to do, and I didn’t cover up the bits on the garden statues with old burlap like our devout auntie Dorcas.

When the Lord and Lady of the manor instructed me to report on their daughter’s comings and goings, I gladly took up the task.  Milady was less than thrilled, at first, about the maid sleeping on a cot in her chamber, but before long she did summon me into the big bed.  The Lord and Lady expected me to temper her rotten behaviour, but that in’t at all what happened.  If anything, my being there made Milady even more unruly.

And then this madness with the creature began.  It weren’t quite a year ago she started sneaking off in the night to meet him.  Who this beastly man might be, I haven’t a clue.  Some sort of nomadic ruffian, perhaps?  Or a convict who escapes his prison cell once every month?  All I do know is that every time the moon is full, Milady slips out of bed thinking I’m none the wiser.  She steals the same blessed frock out from the back of the wardrobe and pours it over her silk underclothes.  At one time, she’d looked a dream in that velvet gown the color of fine red wine.  Now the fabric is torn from the skirts to the sleeves, and the hems are caked with mud.

When Milady’s gown was new, it had a décolletage of lace which climbed all the way up her thin neck and was secured at the nape with pearl buttons.  The lace is gone now.  I lay a bet that rakish fellow couldn’t wait to get his filthy paws on what was underneath, and tore the lace clean off.  Now her pale breasts cling to the edge of her constrictive bodice as though they might leap out at any moment.  And, though I have seen Milady unclothed on many occasions, my pulse always races at the possibility of more.

I do wonder what he looks like, this rake of Milady’s acquaintance.  He must be devilishly handsome if she returns to him month after month.  Could an ugly man tear a woman’s fine apparel to shreds, leave her body bloodied and broken, and still compel her to return at regular intervals?  The thought defies imagining.  But, as I’ve said, I am not like her.

When she is dressed in her rags of velvet, Milady tosses a hooded cape over her shoulders and slips out her grand window.  Desire is the only force that could compel her to climb down the stonework like an experienced mountaineer.  Only when I hear her feet touch the ground do I jump out of bed to watch her race through the gardens and off into the clearing.  I lose sight of the cape concealing her long orange hair when she scampers into the woods, fearless as a tiger but vulnerable as a hare.  Sometimes I think the girl acts solely on impulse, and how I envy her for it!

As I await her return, I imagine what sordid acts of carnality she dares to engage in with her brute.  When we are alone, Milady and me, I am tender with her body.  I curl in against her and wrap my arms around her willowy form.  She allows me to explore beneath her nightclothes, and I caress her breasts with the gentlest of hands.  My fingers traipse between her thighs and dance in the pool she creates just for me.  Her arousal stimulates my imaginings, but I can imagine no greater happiness than lying in bed with my love.

Milady’s monster of a man is anything but gentle.  His rough treatment is apparent in each incision of her flesh, every bite and every scratch.  He devours her breasts until each perfect pink nipple is swollen and red.  Clawing at her back with razor sharp nails, he gnaws on her flesh, from her soft bosom to her shoulders.  Only when he is satisfied with the damage he’s done to her top half does he tear up her skirts.  He searches for warmth between her legs.

He is brutal with her, and somehow she appreciates this quality.  Perhaps he throws her to the ground so her face meets the dirt and decay of the forest floor.  Perhaps he pins her up against a tree so her naked breasts are further tortured by jagged bark.  I can scarcely imagine what pleasure she might derive at being impaled from behind by a hulking creature of the night.  Certainly he forces himself upon her—she returns home dripping with his seed.

I imagine the expression on Milady’s face when he enters her body with furious force.  Wincing, she grits her teeth and shuts her eyes.  I wonder if the act pains her.  If it hurt as badly as I presume, she would never return to him.  Indeed, no woman would enter into carnal relations with any man.  My fingers know the wetness her desire inspires.  If only she appreciated the ardor of my love, she would stay in bed with me rather than venturing out to the woods in the middle of the night.  Perhaps my kind hand is insufficient to her purposes.  It’s possible she savors the sting.

When I catch sight of Milady stumbling out of the forest, I hop back into the bed we share.  Under the covers, I wait to hear her footfalls in the garden below, and then her whimpers of exertion as she climbs the old stone wall.  The window hardly creaks as she opens it wide and moves through like a specter.  Only when I hear the rustle of her skirts do I sit up in bed and rub my eyes as though I had been sleeping all this time.

“Ah, you have ventured out,” I say as she casts off her cape.

I observe the state of her gown and sigh.  It has been torn anew where I stitched it up last month.  The front of her bodice hangs open, her naked breasts scarcely concealed by underthings.  Her nipples glow pink through dirty white silk.  The scratches across her ravaged chest are red and raised, but her wounds are not bleeding tonight.

“I have ventured out,” she concedes at last.  When Milady runs her fingers through her tangled hair, twigs and leaves and all manner of things fall to the floor.  “But now I have returned and I shall require my bath forthwith.”

She wipes dirt from her cheek, but it persists.  Her hands are as muddy as her face.

I slip out from bed and throw a shawl across my shoulders.  Bowing ever so slightly, I reply, “Yes, Milady,” and tiptoe from her chamber in my simple cotton nightdress.

Cook ensures the stove is always lit, and water always upon it for those who wish a cup of tea late into the night.  I replace the two kettles I’ve taken before leaving the kitchen.  The hot water steams as I climb the darkened staircase, quiet as a mouse though my arms shriek with pain.  This task is onerous, but there is nothing I would not endure for Milady.

When the lengthy preparations for her bath are complete, she disrobes slowly, dropping layers of torn velvet and then silk to the ground at her feet.  Under the dim light of wax candles and oil lamps, I observe her naked flesh marred by scratches and bites.  Her pale belly, chest, and thighs have been clawed as if by a biblical beast, but when she turns her back to me I am most frightened of all.

“You’re bleeding, Milady!  And it in’t time for Nature’s curse.”

Stepping into the bath, Milady offers a secretive smile that makes me feel foolish.  Spreading her cheeks, she looks over her shoulder, but I doubt if she can see the blood and seed dripping from her backside.  Those fluids trickle slow as molasses down her thigh, but my eye cannot escape the image of her tortured bum hole, if you’ll pardon my French.  The sight turns my stomach, and I clench my buttocks tight as I’m assaulted by the vision of what that beastly man did to my lover.

“Bugger,” Milady says.  Her voice is light as a meringue.  She seems amused by all that’s happened, and proud of it as well.

“Does it hurt, Milady?”

“Indeed it does, dearest Bet.”  She clutches her cheeks with dirty fingernails.  “Like a hundred knives shoved up my arse.”

Milady winces as she glides into the bathing tub and dunks her head under the water.  Her soft breasts float to the surface even before the tip of her nose rises up.  Her wet hair emerges and she gasps for breath.  All else but her scraped knees remain underwater.

Seating myself on a cushioned stool at her side, I soak a square of cotton in the fragranced water and wipe dirt from her face.  She smiles at me as though we share a secret, but I must admit it’s a secret I don’t fully understand.

“Have you truly never been intimate with a man?” she asks.  “You can confide me, dear Lizzie.  I promise never to tell a soul.”

Shaking my head, I run the cloth down Milady’s smooth neck.  The white cotton turns grey and I must start again with a new square.  “I regret I have nothing to confess.  I have no desire to be intimate with any man.”

She hisses when I touch the cloth to her chest.  Her scratches trouble me deeply, but Milady remains jubilant after such wretched abuse.

“I could never take pleasure in pain,” I tell her.  “If this is the mark of man, I am safer in my own leanings.”

“Ah, but this is no mere man,” she says, and closes her eyes.  A smile flows from her tender pink lips.  “He is a man and so much more.”

As Milady skims her fingers through the hair between her legs, I watch her lovely breasts bob in the water.  Those pallid spheres call to me, their poor pink nipples distended and erect.  I roll up the sleeves of my nightdress before drizzling fragranced oil across her chest.  She sighs when I rub my cloth the length of her bare breast, but I am hardly satisfied to touch her skin through a square of cotton.  Her nudity provokes irrepressible urges in me.  I must feel her soft flesh against mine.

Releasing the cloth, I trace gentle fingertips down her breasts.  She whimpers when I fondle her nipples.  What that beastly man did to cause her such lasting agony, I’ll never know.  What can I do but take those floating orbs into the care of my palms and revere them with my soft caress?

When I press Milady’s breasts together, she smiles and sighs.  I squeeze them repeatedly, again and again.  Slick as they are with lavender oil, they slip one against the other and glide from my hands.  I circle the meat of my palms around her beautiful breasts until the bathwater ripples in the tub.  If it weren’t for the pain inflicted by that wretched beast, I would plunge my face into her bath and suckle at her bosom until I drowned.

When she returns from him broken and bleeding, what else have I to offer but my gentle hands?  Each time she goes to the forest in search of that beast I must remind myself it is my touch she will come home to.  I am the woman she sleeps beside each night.  No one else but I may caress her soft body underneath the bed covers.  At night, she is mine to embrace.  I would never abuse my gift as this horrible man has done time after time.  What kind of hideous creature would torture a woman so?

My thighs are slick with juice as I trace my fingers down her stomach.  Again I take up my cotton cloth and wipe faint traces of blood from her wounds.  Milady whimpers and, opening her eyes, she lifts her hand from the bath.  When she quaintly pets my cheek with the back of her fingers, I am in heaven.

“Ah, you are a dear,” Milady sighs.

Her words tremble inside of me, but I only acknowledge her sentiment with the slightest of nods.  I know what I will do next and, though I am certain she will not put up her guard, my heart pounds inside my chest.

With cloth in hand, I cleanse the length of her thighs.  She murmurs her approval each time I approach the abyss.  In the illuminated darkness, I can scarcely see her most intimate hair drifting below the water’s surface, but I know how to find it.  I have touched her there so many times before.

When I set my palm against her mound, she seizes the edge of the tub and gasps.  Her wet hair casts water across the floor as she tosses her head side to side against the rim.

“My little Lizzie Bet,” she coos.  “You take such fine care of your mistress, my dear.”

I press my lips together until a grin breaks free.  In truth, there is nothing I love better than Milady’s praise. I rub her mound with the cloth and she writhes beneath my touch.

“All I want is to please you,” I confess, though I’ve told her this many times before.

Her breath is rough and heavy when she replies, “You do naught but please me, my sweet darling Bet.”

With a heart full of joy, I toss away the cotton cloth and kiss her wet flesh with my fingers.  The tender place between Milady’s thighs is softer than her fine furs or silks, or anything else my hardworking hands have ever touched.  Her body is my cathedral, and she my high priestess.  I worship at the apex of Milady’s tremulous cunt.

Her hips rock the bath in time with my tender strokes.  Her pale cheeks flush with exertion as her breath grows rapid and unsteady.  As my tempo accelerates, her frenzied motion spills fragranced water over the sides.  I rub the lips between her thighs with all my love and might, splashing myself with every stroke.  With one hand, I cling to the tub, but the front of my nightdress is already soaked through and my nipples erect with the chill.  She stifles the cries I’ve so often heard stifled.  We know we must be quiet.  In this house, the walls have ears.

When her bliss has ebbed and flowed, I stroke her mound slowly.  She mumbles my name in all its forms, calling me Lizzie, Betty, Beth, and Bet, and spouting tender messages of adoration.  My heart is never so full as when Milady speaks my name.  Her loving compliments are my absinthe.  I massage her most tender flesh until the bath turns cold and my wet nightdress chills me to the bone.  Then, I wrap her hair in fine linens and cloak her wounded body in fresh silks.  For this one night, I will sleep nude.

Milady’s breath grows deep the moment we crawl into bed, but my relief at her safe return overshadows my desire to whisper words of love.  I envelope her tender form in my arms.  Even in sleep, she flinches at my touch.  When I close my eyes, I see the horrific vision of her backside trickling with semen and blood.  I shudder and hold her body closer to mine.  Seeing her secretive grin in my mind’s eye, I wonder what inspired it.

The full moon shines bright outside Milady’s window.  A lone wolf howls in the distance.  Despite my exhaustion, I cannot sleep.  What creature would do such harm to a lovely young woman?  And to what end does Milady seek the damage?

A Jealous God

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«Dieu aima les oiseaux et inventa les arbres.

L'homme aima les oiseaux et inventa les cages.»

~Jacques Deval

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“You are My creation, wicked Eve.”

“Creator made Eve for the pleasure of knowing her and loving her.”  She bowed her head as in prayer.  Even with the Creator standing right in front of her cage, she cast her gaze downward.  It would be presumptuous for a mere mortal to look upon such a luminous being.

“You are mine for the taking, and mine for the keeping,” He instructed.  “You are mine to do with as I desire.”

“Eve is His creation,” she repeated, bowing lower, until her forehead met the ground.  “He does to her as He pleases.”

She was merely the plaything of her all-powerful and all-knowing Creator. Without any right to self-determination, how could she contemplate the meaning of I?  Eve had never heard of identity.  She saw the world through the camera lucida of His gaze.  With Him as the closest she knew to a mirror, how could she view herself as anything but contemptible?

Her cage was made of chicken wire, but escape never crossed her mind.  If she left, where would she go?  Better yet, why would she go?  Eve sat each day in patient silence, waiting for Him to appear.  She did not sleep while He was away, for fear of missing out on the thrill of His arrival.

The chicken wire cut her flesh if she held the same position for too long, so she tried not to move.  Her knees were scarred red with pointed ovals like eyes without irises.  Eve was blind to life beyond the chicken wire.

All day, she waited to hear His key enter the front lock.  The door would open and then squeal shut, but Creator never entered her room right away.  Her room was, of course, a faulty descriptor.  It was not her room in any sense—it was merely the room which her cage occupied.

When He entered, she cast her eyes suitably downward.  Offering neither greeting nor request, she waited for Him to make His demands.

“Foul beast of the earth.” His voice boomed as He caught sight of her piddle in the corner of her cage.  “Go on the newspaper.  What do you think it’s there for?”

Eve cowered, but made no reply.  On days when pain from the chicken wire made her faint, she liked to sit on the newspaper for relief.  She couldn’t do that if it was soiled.

“A dog can be housetrained,” He spat.  When she made no response, He commanded, “Lie down.  Are you no better than a brute?  Present yourself to me like a dog.”

Sinking to her hands and knees, Eve backed up against the cage.  She raised her posterior high in the air to ensure her two holes would be aligned with the padded opening in the chicken wire.  She could never be sure whether He might fuck her pussy or her ass, or her pussy and then her ass.  But without any sense of self, Eve had no concept of preference.  She existed solely for the enjoyment of her Creator.

When she pressed her chest to the floor, her tender nipples caught the chicken wire at the base of the cage.  She began to nudge her forearms underneath her breasts to alleviate the pain, but Creator caught sight and cried, “Stay!”

Eve allowed her face to fall against the floor, and the wire dug into her cheek.  Still, she stayed.  Though she averted her gaze, she could tell He’d worn his chaps.  The scent of leather surmounted even those of urine and sweat.

“Have you any desires, filthy beast?” He bellowed.  “Do you wish for me to fuck you?”

“Eve has no thoughts or wishes that are not aligned with Creator’s,” she replied.  “Creator will tell Eve what to think and what to wish for.”

“You will think nothing,” He snapped.  “You will neither wish, desire, nor long for anything at all.  You are merely a vessel to receive the bounty I come to bestow upon the earth.”

“Eve is an empty vessel waiting to be filled with the gifts of the Creator.”

Creator never sank to his knees; He graced the ground with their pressure.

Through the hole in her cage, Creator watched Eve’s purple asshole throb and grasp.  He poked it with His thumb, and her assring undulated like a brainless deep-sea organism, drawing in every unsuspecting lurker.