Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women

by Nancy Madore

  But on this occasion, no roses were in bloom and the cottage seemed cheerless and damp. Upon entering the dwelling, the queen felt remorseful and wretched. She rushed up the stairs to the bedchamber in the hopes that the pleasure she had found there before would bring her comfort, but alas, upon peering into the unenchanted mirror, she gasped in horror. Her appearance was like something inhuman! She fell on the bed full of regret and weeping. She could not stay another minute in the cottage with the prince.

  And so it was for three long months that the prince remained alone and unhappy, the queen remained a queen who was not expired, and Snow White remained in her glass coffin.

  Then one day, while the queen was in her bedchamber, she came upon the roses she had taken from the prince’s cottage. To her amazement, they were completely intact and as fresh as the day she had picked them. She lifted them to her face, and their enchanted scent caused her to remember the time spent in the cottage with the prince. Suddenly she realized what she had given up and how unhappy she had been ever since. I must undo this deed, she thought.

  With swift determination she grabbed the bed warmer from her bed and hurled it with all her might into the mirror, shattering it into a thousand pieces.

  Next, she called for two messengers; the first of which she sent into the woods where Snow White slept in her coffin and the other she sent to her beloved servant. Then she waited.

  The queen waited in her bedchamber for hours, but for her they passed like minutes. As the sun slowly made its way across the afternoon sky, she was thinking about her visits to the cottage, so charming with its countless vines of tiny, enchanted roses. Even when the light grew steadily dimmer through her window, her face glowed and flushed as she recalled the images in the bedroom mirror. When at last the shadows began to cast about for their evening positions, the queen’s whole being ached for the soft and loving touch of her servant.

  She fancied that she could feel a slight loosening of her flesh, and a sudden terror seized her; but she was awakened from her alarm by the sound of a footstep in the doorway and there, she beheld, her servant-prince!

  Upon seeing the queen changed back to her former appearance, the prince nearly wept for joy. He calmed her fears by sweeping her into his arms and out through the doorway. They mounted his noble white horse, and that poor creature got no rest until he had carried the rapturous couple to the cottage deep in the wood.

  And what they did there is exactly what you or I would be doing right now, if our own prince were here!

  Mrs. Fox

  It is to be expected that, at some point in any marriage, a wife might desire someone other than her husband. Such was the case with Mrs. Fox.

  This is not to say that Mrs. Fox was discontent in her marriage with Mr. Fox, for the couple was exceedingly well matched. Mr. Fox was dashingly handsome and sophisticated, and Mrs. Fox was time and again captivated by his clever and amusing wit and charm. These glowing attributes of Mr. Fox perfectly complemented his wife’s restless and inquisitive nature, which would have become discontented with a less-accomplished partner. What’s more, Mr. Fox was gallantly attentive, and his romantic behavior only improved when met with Mrs. Fox’s casual indifference, which made her seem quite mysterious to Mr. Fox. In short, their combined personalities produced a delightful give and take that they both enjoyed.

  There was only one minute irregularity that arose in the Foxes’ marriage; a pity that it was so inevitable. For beneath the detached exterior of Mrs. Fox lay an inquisitiveness that nearly drove her to distraction. When her curiosity was sufficiently piqued, she was apt to become impudently bold if she didn’t check these tendencies behind a cool air of indifference. So, although she loved Mr. Fox above all things, these inclinations, when combined with her passionate temperament, brought about in her a tedium of things realized and a strong yearning for things new or forbidden.

  Mr. Fox was unaware of any disturbance of this kind in his wife. He adored her passion for things unknown, and was thoroughly taken with her mysterious manner.

  Now these yearnings of Mrs. Fox were not strange or foreign to her; they were, in fact, manifested in the form of one Mr. Wolfe.

  Mr. Wolfe was Mr. Fox’s dearest friend and fiercest rival. Since childhood, whenever any single thing had captured the attention of one, it immediately became a matter of supreme interest to the other, also. It was no different when Mr. Fox first noticed Mrs. Fox. Throughout their courtship Mr. Wolfe had been scandalously flirtatious, taking every opportunity to tempt and tease Mrs. Fox with brazen overtures. He was often slipping a moist tongue into a seemingly polite kiss on her hand, or leaving a steamy breath lingering salaciously in her ear behind an otherwise civil remark. While these little forbidden intimacies were unwanted and to all appearances ignored by Mrs. Fox, they always left her slightly atremble. Of course, once the Foxes were married, the rivalry had ended. Mr. Wolfe had accepted his defeat good-naturedly, and he even married soon thereafter, so that the matter was quite forgotten by everyone.

  Everyone, that is, except Mrs. Fox.

  Now Mrs. Wolfe was as simple and sweet as Mrs. Fox was passionate and complex. In truth, she was a much more suitable match for Mr. Wolfe’s fiery, impulsive nature.

  And Mrs. Fox certainly did not wish to be married to Mr. Wolfe, even if her thoughts did occasionally wander in the direction of the darker, more volatile man, sometimes even developing into wild speculations about how he performed his husbandly duties in the bedchamber. It did not signify anything lacking in her own marriage, for there was nothing amiss in her husband’s treatment of her, and no single action of his with which she could find fault. On the contrary, Mr. Fox was as clever and skillful in the bedroom as he was in everything else. He knew exactly how to locate each and every nerve ending in Mrs. Fox’s anatomy and, more important, what to do with them when he found them. He never took his own satisfaction before making quite sure of hers. To come to the point, Mr. Fox was everything Mrs. Fox could wish for in a lover.

  Except, of course, that he was not Mr. Wolfe.

  And aside from all of this, Mrs. Wolfe had come to be as dear a friend as Mrs. Fox could have. She genuinely enjoyed the company of sweet Mrs. Wolfe, in spite of the secret hunger for any little tidbit of information about the Wolfes’ private life lurking within her. Mrs. Fox would simply compensate for this by boasting shamelessly about her own husband. She would go to great lengths to brag about the many admirable charms of Mr. Fox, all of which were absolutely true of course, but which nevertheless had lost some of their appeal simply because they were so readily available to her (unlike the forbidden charms of Mr. Wolfe). Mrs. Wolfe did not appear to notice this eccentricity in her friend, for she always seemed too absorbed by her own thoughts.

  Time passed in this way, and you may think that Mrs. Fox’s curiosity had diminished somewhat by frustration, but, no! It grew stronger. Poor Mrs. Fox could think of little else besides Mr. Wolfe and what it would be like to be Mrs. Wolfe. So preoccupied with these thoughts was Mrs. Fox that she could hardly enjoy the considerable physical talents of Mr. Fox without having her mind wander off into the Wolfes’ boudoir. This is, in fact, what fueled her excitement as poor Mr. Fox spent his efforts pleasuring her. There was simply something so much more intriguing in the unknown and forbidden notion of Mr. Wolfe than in the familiar and real pleasures her husband had to offer. For Mrs. Fox, the grass was always greener somewhere else.

  One day, as Mrs. Fox was guiltily prattling on about her husband’s many capabilities to Mrs. Wolfe, the latter all of a sudden sighed miserably. “What a pity I cannot sample Mr. Fox’s talents firsthand,” she remarked absently.

  No sooner were the words out of Mrs. Wolfe’s mouth than the impact of what she had said hit her. She turned her eyes in horror to meet the shocked gaze of Mrs. Fox. Blushing a deep red, she was immediately contrite.

  “Oh, my dear! I never meant…really…what I intended to say…” she stammered on, searching frantically for a way to recant the
scandalous statement.

  Mrs. Fox had at first been too dumbfounded to reply, such was her astonishment to hear those words uttered from the proper Mrs. Wolfe, but her composure quickly returned and she slyly took up the opportunity she had secretly wished for.

  “It is, in truth, what I myself have wondered on occasion,” she admitted. She did not dare to confess the extent of these wonderings, or that she had been thinking about little else since the wedding eve of the Wolfes’ marriage.

  “You…?” Sweet Mrs. Wolfe was still too flustered to contribute much to the conversation.

  “It is only normal, after all,” continued Mrs. Fox, determined to use her friend’s unexpected slip to further her own wishes or, as it now stood, the wishes of them both.

  “Our husbands, although each very talented I am sure, are in almost every respect opposites. How could we not wonder how it would feel to be with a man so different from our own?”

  Mrs. Wolfe absorbed this and seemed to relax a bit.

  “Perhaps,” she consented. “But we could never…I mean,” she stopped herself again.

  “There is a way,” suggested Mrs. Fox cunningly, with her heart pounding at her own boldness.

  Mrs. Wolfe remained speechless, but there was a spark of interest in her eyes as they met Mrs. Fox’s.

  Mrs. Fox pretended to be contemplating the situation. In fact, she had played this scenario out in her mind at least a hundred times before.

  “In a dark bedchamber,” she mused, “our husbands would not be able to distinguish between us so easily.”

  Both women stared at the other in silence for a moment. Their hearts were racing at the implication of Mrs. Fox’s words. Neither dared speak; then both spoke at once.

  Mrs. Wolfe asked, “But, how?” Just as Mrs. Fox had wondered, “Would you really do it?”

  The women couldn’t suppress a nervous laugh. This released the tension a bit, and to Mrs. Fox’s further amazement, Mrs. Wolfe spoke up first, in a breathless whisper, saying, “I would!”

  Mrs. Fox could only marvel that Mrs. Wolfe was indeed full of surprises underneath that timid exterior!

  The particulars were easily enough arranged once their intention had been established, and each woman eagerly did her part to prepare for the event. It seemed most logical that they simply change places during one of the many parties Mrs. Fox held, and where it was quite ordinary for the Wolfes and other guests to remain overnight. The other guests would add to the general confusion and hopefully diminish any idea of dissimilarity for their husbands.

  As the date of the event drew near, both wives could not help going over and over their plans, not so much so that all would run smoothly as for the sheer thrill of reliving the excitement of what they were about to do, and to increase the anticipation of what was to come. Just imagining it caused both to become bright and rosy with expectation, and actually renewed their awareness of their own husbands in the meantime.

  At last the night arrived when their long-awaited fantasy would be realized. The party itself was a long, tantalizing agony that left their nerves quaking.

  After the party Mrs. Fox shivered in anticipation as she lay beside her husband and waited for him to fall asleep. His arms tightened around her protectively in response. She wondered how Mrs. Wolfe was faring. They had both agreed to gently put off any advances from their husbands. Later, the impostor wives would have a change of heart. There was no doubt that both husbands would accommodate their belated “wives”; they were, after all, men, no matter how different from one another, and it would be a singular thing indeed if one of them were to fail on this night.

  Mrs. Fox listened keenly as her husband’s breathing slowed and his arms around her relaxed. At last he was asleep! She cautiously slipped from the bed without disturbing him and tiptoed out of their chamber.

  Mrs. Wolfe was already waiting for her in the shadows of the hallway. The conspirators exchanged a quick hug and then scurried away into their new chambers.

  Mrs. Fox did not think of what Mrs. Wolfe was about to do with her own husband, for she was too overcome with excitement over what was about to happen to herself. Besides, whatever they did together, her husband would think it was no other than she he was doing it with.

  With her heart hammering wildly within her breast she tiptoed into the pitch-dark chamber where Mr. Wolfe slept, slipped off her nightgown and crept into the bed beside him. He groaned in his sleep as she rubbed her naked body against his. His hands instinctively went around her and pulled her closer to him.

  Mrs. Fox lifted her face and found Mr. Wolfe’s warm, moist lips. The stubble on his cheek was rougher than that of her husband’s. He responded immediately to her kiss, even in sleep, and his arms tightened around her as he all but bruised her lips with his. All at once he was awake.

  Mr. Wolfe did not question or tease, as her husband might have done, but instead he reacted violently, flinging her onto her back and covering her body with his own. Although she was alarmed by his brutality, there was no opportunity for second thoughts, for he held her down securely and crushed her lips under his. But she was having no second thoughts, or, if she had, they were almost immediately forgotten in the tumult of his embrace.

  Her hands had flown up in a gesture at first defensive, but so ineffectual as a defense that they really seemed more of a caress. She spread out her hands over his chest and fingered the curly hair that covered his burly muscles, so different from her husband’s smooth, lean body. Longing to feel his roughness fully against her skin, she wrapped her arms around his neck and arched her back, pressing her bare breasts against him. His body was so warm and hard and strong. She shuddered.

  “I’m sorry, my love,” he murmured. “I know I frighten you when I am too rough.” He began to loosen his hold on her.

  “No!” she protested. Then, collecting herself, she whispered to disguise her voice. “I want it like that, darling.”

  There was silence for a moment, and Mrs. Fox wondered if she had given herself away.

  “Are you sure?” he asked her at last.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Hold nothing back from me tonight.”

  He moaned out loud and then lowered his lips to hers, pausing directly over her lips, nearly but not quite touching, for a brief moment. She could feel his hot breath on her face as he once again murmured, “You’re sure?”

  “Yes! Yes!” she whispered. “Plea…” But she could not finish her petition because his lips were once again crushing hers.

  Mr. Wolfe pushed his tongue into Mrs. Fox’s mouth, tasting her lips and tongue. Next he was kissing her cheeks, chin and neck. Everywhere he kissed her he seared her skin with his hot breath and rough face. Her flesh burned and tingled from his lips and tongue. He licked and bit her breasts, making her cry out. Then he moved over her belly and lower, covering every inch of her with his kisses. Spreading her legs wide, he buried his tongue deep within her. He was like a ravenous animal; his mouth seemed to be everywhere at once. But he still did not satisfy, no! His tongue continued to seek out every part of her so that, before he had finished, he had tasted every hidden place between her wide-open legs. And even though the room was pitch-dark, Mrs. Fox’s cheeks burned red-hot with embarrassment. But she could not wiggle away from him; he held her much too firmly for that! His lips and tongue took possession of her, greedily, and without the slightest regard for her self-conscious struggles.

  At last Mr. Wolfe withdrew his tongue, but alas, she had overcome her embarrassment and now ached for him to continue! He had other plans however and, placing her knees so that one rested on each of his shoulders, he drew himself nearer to her again, stretching her legs awkwardly up and apart as he did so. Holding her securely so that she would not move away, he pressed himself into her. She cried out loudly when she felt how large he was. All her control seemed to be draining away and she cried out again and again as he began to drive into her. And as her excitement grew he increased his speed.

  Although Mr
s. Fox loved being thus laid open and taken, she lamented that she could not move at all in her present position.

  As if reading her mind, Mr. Wolfe suddenly flipped her onto her stomach, and pulled her up onto her knees. Mrs. Fox succumbed without delay, and gasped when he reentered her from behind. He reached around her body and vigorously pinched the tips of her breasts with his strong fingers, while steadily working himself into her. She gasped with outrage and mortified delight.

  He was steadily becoming more crude and demanding. His impostor wife unconsciously edged forward a little to escape his hard thrusts, but he grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked, forcing her body back and obliging her to stay put unless she wished to suffer further pain. She cried out again, but he seemed not to hear her. If anything, he was becoming even more ruthless with each of her cries. She thrashed about desperately, trying to lessen the blow of each punishing thrust, but again, her attempts only incited him further. Tears streamed down her face as she was obliged to remain still and withstand the relentless onslaught. She hated Mr. Wolfe; though an irrepressible yearning possessed her in spite of her discomfort and anger. She wondered how Mrs. Wolfe was able to withstand this rough mating, even as she was reaching between her legs to enhance her own pleasure.

  She was slowly becoming conscious of her other senses, and particularly she was aware of a sound that had been echoing in her eardrums. It was a foreign sound, low and base and harsh; mere whispers and grunts but with the tone and inflection of longing and horror and shame. The disquieting sound had been echoing in her ears for some time now. But what was it?

  Suddenly she was filled with revulsion. It was her! It was the sound of her own voice, half whispering and half grunting out her surreptitious wish, again and again.