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 carefully until I was
positive no one was near, I stripped and tossed the 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 shoulders 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…?

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