by Nancy Madore
“Harder,” she heard herself moan. “Harder, harder, I want it harder!”
How long had she been repeating that shameful directive through her struggles and tears? How much more could she take? Yet even fully conscious of it she couldn’t seem to stop; she just kept choking out the words “Harder…I want it harder.”
Mrs. Fox felt like a woman possessed. Her desire was controlling and overpowering her. Her initial horror over what she was doing had halted her sensations for but a moment, then they returned with twice the strength. She didn’t know what to do. She was terrified that it would end before she had had enough.
“Please, oh, please,” she was begging and sobbing now, “don’t stop! You mustn’t stop.” Through her sobs she continued to pleasure herself, even as her poor aching body flinched and cowered from his fierce riding of her. And she realized that this was how she knew it would be with Mr. Wolfe. She could hardly account for her desire for him, but she still wanted more!
She clung to the bed in an attempt to hold her ground against his pounding, and she knew now that it was she who egged him on with her frenzied mantra “Harder, harder.” She wished she could stop herself. This was madness. But even so, her trembling fingers kept rubbing and rubbing and her lips kept repeating, “Harder, harder, harder!”
Mr. Wolfe grabbed hold of Mrs. Fox by her buttocks, and he squeezed each one brutally. Then he dug his fingers in and used them to pile drive himself deeper into her still, asking, “Is that hard enough?”
Insane lust was dominating Mrs. Fox, so that even though she sobbed in agony she still kept whimpering, “Harder…harder!”
Mr. Wolfe was now working her hips like kneaded bread, his large fingers digging into her fleshy buttocks and manipulating her tender cheeks in and around his shaft. Her head had collapsed onto the bed but he still held her buttocks quite high, squeezing and pinching as he simultaneously pulled her toward him and thrust into her. He too was becoming quite crazed from her maddening chant, begging him to go harder, faster, and above all, not to stop. Her bottom had become like dough in his fists as he continued to pound himself into her softness.
Mrs. Fox at last reached the height of her excitement. She squeezed her eyes shut as the waves came over her, her body nearly broken but her lips still murmuring over and over, “Harder, harder, harder.” Her entire being convulsed in shudders of unspeakable pleasure.
Feeling her shudders and hearing her soft cries, Mr. Wolfe lost all control. Mrs. Fox felt his body quake, as with a loud yell he flung himself deep within her one last time.
When it was over he took her in his arms. She was trembling violently and he suddenly became very gentle, begging her forgiveness for his rough treatment of her. He spread tender kisses over her face and shoulders, cursing himself and pleading with her to forgive him. Finally her trembling lessened and only then did he fall into deep slumber. With her face still damp from her tears, Mrs. Fox crept from the bed and left the Wolfes’ chamber with a fervent wish to be with her own gentle husband.
Meanwhile, you mustn’t think that Mrs. Wolfe had been sluggish in waking Mr. Fox, for she had sneaked her way into his arms much the same as Mrs. Fox had done.
“What’s this now?” Mr. Fox teased when he felt her silky softness snuggling up against him.
But there was no need for Mrs. Wolfe to answer, for his lips were claiming hers in a gentle teasing kiss. Excitement filled her as she wound her arms around his neck. His skin was so warm and lean and smooth she could not help herself from pressing her nakedness up tightly against him. He kissed her masterfully, nipping at her lips and teasing her with his tongue.
As Mr. Fox kissed Mrs. Wolfe, his hands gently wandered down the length of her body, caressing and lightly tickling her skin to create goose bumps and cause her breasts to harden. Then his hands moved to her breasts that he might enjoy his handiwork. His fingertips determinedly squeezed and twisted the hard little tips. Mrs. Wolfe gasped at this exquisitely sweet torture. Mrs. Fox certainly had not lied when she described how talented her husband was.
Mr. Fox took his time, not greedily grabbing and grasping, but playfully handling her breasts until she thought she might die from the agony of not being touched elsewhere. At last, just as she thought she might lose her mind, he finally moved his hand lower, but then he lingered on her belly, until she lifted her hips off the bed and pushed them upward and into his hand. Mr. Fox laughed at her obvious impatience, and whispered, “Easy, love.”
Mrs. Wolfe had never been in the position of having to wait or plead; in fact she was quite used to being attended to without delay. This teasing created a twisting ache between her legs and a prickling awareness in her nerve endings, so she felt all at once needy and desperate and irritable. She lifted her hips and pushed them fiercely into his hand yet again, silently cursing him for his cool control. Chuckling at her obvious displeasure in him, he kept circling her skin with cruel gentleness, lightly brushing around and between her wide-open legs but all too quickly flittering away again to roam over her hips, belly and thighs, and then back between her legs.
Mrs. Wolfe was becoming quite anxious but what could she do? Fearing to say the wrong thing and give herself away she could do no more than wait. However, her need was becoming voracious and the little flickering teasing touches, although quite expert in effectiveness, were all too short-lived to even come close to satisfying her. She moaned in anguish and shamelessly flung her hips up again in search of his hand. She was becoming more and more indignant with Mr. Fox. How did Mrs. Fox bear all this horrible teasing?
Mr. Fox, meanwhile, seemed to be enjoying himself too much to care about her discomfort. He merely laughed at her struggles, using his hands to subdue her even as they drove her to distraction. He loved how each time he brushed and teased the opening between her legs it seemed to get wetter and wetter. He staunchly approved discipline and self-control, and furthermore believed that for every moan of anticipation one full second of pleasure was added to the final satisfaction. He kept this in mind as his fingers continued their torturous dance over her body. His own body was throbbing with eagerness to bury itself in her wetness and get lost in the pleasure. But all in good time.
Besides that, Mr. Fox loved touching his wife. It seemed that every time he did she felt new and exciting. He especially enjoyed finding her most sensitive places, and once she was properly warmed, she was that much more likely to submit to these more inquisitive ministrations. Feeling that she was in such a condition as that now, his hands slowly worked their way up her thighs, spreading them even farther apart. He kissed her between her legs while slipping one hand up below. His tongue slowly trailed the soaking slit to her opening as his finger snaked its way up between her two plump buttocks and rested at the puckered hole there. Mrs. Wolfe was too stunned to move, so her legs remained wide-open, and her fingers grasped the bedsheets at her sides. Every molecule was screaming in mutiny, yet waiting obediently for release. She, in turns, gasped and moaned.
Mr. Fox was meanwhile leisurely circling her backside with his finger while simultaneously tickling her pleasure spot knowingly with his tongue. He did this with an almost uncanny expertise, flicking his tongue over the sensitive area with just the right amount of force and pressure to send thrills throughout her body, and then stopping abruptly to lap up her liquids with a wicked laugh. Meanwhile, his finger between her buttocks continued its teasing and circling, even pushing into her now and then, farther and farther, encouraged by her little gasps.
Mrs. Wolfe reflected that, as forceful as her husband was, she had never before felt so utterly abused. While Mr. Wolfe took what he wanted from her she was able to take what she wanted from him, too. But this was different somehow. It felt as if Mr. Fox was controlling them both; and she did not like it one bit. Tears came to her eyes and she cried out in frustration and impatience.
Now Mr. Fox reckoned he at last had her where he wanted her. He laid back on the bed, saying, “Come now and get it.”
&n
bsp; Mrs. Wolfe was stunned. She had certainly never heard such an utterance from Mr. Wolfe. She had never seen a man show such control.
But she could not keep herself from continuing, for she sorely needed what he was withholding. So up she got, and prepared to mount Mr. Fox.
However, this was not exactly what Mr. Fox had intended. He stopped her before he entered her.
“First show me how much you want it.”
Oh, how she hated him! She almost forgot herself in the heat of her anger, and told him what she thought of him. Seemingly unaware of this, his hand was gently caressing her head and stroking her hair, even as he pressed her head downward. She choked back her indignation and opened her mouth to accept his hard shaft. He kept pressing her head down until she could feel him at the back of her throat.
“That’s it,” he groaned with pleasure. “If you want it you’re going to have to work for it.”
Her face burned when she heard these words, but the distress between her legs was becoming urgent, so what could she do?
Mrs. Wolfe worked with all her might to please Mr. Fox, licking and sucking as cleverly as she was capable and even using her hands too, just as he had done, so that she might earn her reward. She sucked and slurped until she was certain she had never done it so well, and she even thought up some new things that she hadn’t thought of before; such was her desire to win the pleasures Mr. Fox dangled before her. And it occurred to her that this, too, was causing her loins to ache even more painfully than Mr. Fox’s clever administrations had.
But, oh, how much longer until she would be granted relief? Tears filled her eyes as she continued to labor before him, nearly choking herself in her efforts to please him.
Mr. Fox was a firm believer in self-control as we have established, but he was not a machine, and his body also had its limitations. He abruptly stopped the suckling therefore, lest he should shame himself and disappoint his partner after all her commendable efforts. He said, “You have well earned your reward!” And he pulled her onto his throbbing body.
Mrs. Wolfe moaned loudly as her body was lowered onto his. It felt so good to finally have him sliding into her! At last the ache between her legs started to recede a bit as she wiggled herself up and down and forward and back, trying to get the feeling just right.
Mr. Fox was fondling and pinching her breasts, but as Mrs. Wolfe’s movements became more frenzied he moved one hand down between her legs and began to help her. She gasped and moaned, once again amazed by how clever Mr. Fox was. His fingers were much more effective than her rubbing had been and she slowed her own movements to a mere rocking motion and allowed his talented fingers to do the rest. She rocked and ground her hips forward and back as his fingers twisted and teased. With his other hand he pinched the tips of her breasts.
Mrs. Wolfe was unused to this gentler style of intercourse. Her husband’s more vigorous attentions revealed to her his attraction and need. Mr. Fox’s absolute composure seemed almost like indifference by comparison, even if it did enhance the pleasure considerably. She closed her eyes and imagined her husband ravishing poor Mrs. Fox and this brought about a most shattering conclusion to her painstaking efforts of the evening.
She collapsed onto Mr. Fox. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her firmly by the shoulders as he repeatedly thrust himself into her. She clung to him, trembling as he released himself into her. And Mrs. Wolfe forgot everything for a while, simply luxuriating in the soft afterglow of their lovemaking. But at last she perceived that Mr. Fox had fallen asleep, with her still rested atop and astride him. She silently extricated herself from his embrace, careful not to wake him. Then she quickly dressed and left the Foxes’ bedroom.
Mrs. Fox was there to meet her in the dim hallway, and their eyes met and examined the other for a brief moment in silence. Mrs. Wolfe blushed as she wondered what Mrs. Fox must think after having this firsthand knowledge of her husband. But Mrs. Fox was experiencing the same embarrassment as she wondered the same thing! And both realized that they were better suited to their own husbands after all.
Perhaps the reader now expects me to reiterate the sage adage that the grass isn’t greener on the other side, and that people ought to be content with what they have. But I’m not sure that would be the appropriate conclusion to draw from this particular tale, for Mrs. Fox and Mrs. Wolfe continue their occasional excursions into the other’s bedrooms to this very day. And while it is quite true that the grass was not actually greener on the other side for either one, it turns out that it was still fairly green, after all.
And there really are so many shades of green anyway, aren’t there?
Snow White in the Woods
Once upon a time there lived a king and queen who had everything they wanted—except a child. On cold winter evenings they would sit contentedly near the cozy hearth, the queen with her needlepoint and the king watching her, while both discussed the day’s events. But every now and then, the queen would halt all activity to stare out the window at the falling snow, and there she would gaze, having completely forgotten her unfinished sentence or her needle suspended in midair. Her husband knew well what it was that arrested her attention on these occasions; she was envisioning their child.
On one such evening, the queen accidentally pricked her finger with her sewing needle. A bright red drop of blood appeared and, as the queen stared at it, she sighed deeply and murmured, “If only I could have a daughter with lips as red as this blood, skin as white as the snow outside and hair as black as the coal that burns in the fire!”
Within a year the queen’s wish came to pass, and the happy couple were blessed with a daughter who had lips as red as blood, skin as white as snow and hair as black as coal. They called her Snow White.
The queen died shortly after the birth of her daughter, and a few years later her husband remarried. His new wife made a beautiful queen, and the three lived together happily for a time. But before Snow White was ten years of age her father died also, leaving her to be raised by her stepmother. The woman was kind to the child at first, but with each year that passed Snow White became more and more beautiful and, by degrees, her stepmother, who was aging and fearful of losing her own beauty, began to resent her. One day, the queen abruptly stopped the supply of beautiful gowns and other adornments that Snow White was accustomed to, and forced her to labor in the kitchen. But even in rags, Snow White’s beauty could not be ignored, and to her stepmother, who was plagued day and night by the fear of losing her beauty, it seemed as if Snow White were growing more beautiful for the sole purpose of tormenting her.
Finally the queen could endure Snow White’s presence no longer, so she had a servant take her away with instructions to put her to death. But the gentle servant did not harm Snow White. Instead, he took her far away into the woods and warned her of the queen’s intentions. Snow White was terrified, but the servant assured her that only a short distance farther she would find a small cottage belonging to seven kind little men who lived together in the wood. The dwarfs, he promised, would keep her safe.
When the servant left her, Snow White was alone for the first time in her life. The woods were filled with strange noises, and she rushed about in search of the dwarfs’ cottage. She wound her way deeper and deeper into the woods until, at length, she reached a small bungalow that could be none other than the home of the dwarfs, for the doorway was so short as to oblige Snow White to bend in order to enter through it.
With curiosity now overriding her fears, Snow White knocked several times on the small door. Realizing the dwarfs must be out, and impatient to see inside the little hut, she opened the door and let herself in.
Once inside, there remained no doubt that this was indeed the cottage of the dwarfs, for there were seven little chairs around the kitchen table, and seven place settings upon the table, and so forth. As Snow White advanced farther into the cottage, she beheld seven little chairs in a quaint little sitting room and, farther on, seven neatly made little beds in the bedroom. Wh
at sort of men are these? she wondered.
Now, the seven dwarfs were really seven handsome princes who had been placed under an evil spell by an angry witch. The spell, in addition to making the princes very small in stature, also caused each of them to be afflicted with a malady of sorts, so that one was plagued by continuous fits of sneezing, another by chronic sleepiness, another still by a sour disposition, and so on. Seeing no relief from their wretched situation, the princes left polite society to live quietly together in the woods, where eventually they came to be known by the characteristics they were given from the curse, so that they were called Sneezy, Sleepy, Grumpy, Happy, Dopey, Bashful and Doc. Such were the circumstances of the dwarfs when they made the acquaintance of Snow White later that evening.
From their very first meeting, Snow White was charmed by the dwarfs and felt quite safe residing with them in their little bungalow in the woods. And as for the prince-dwarfs, they each fell deeply in love with Snow White. Nothing she did failed to please them, and they doted on her in every single thing that she wished. In no time at all they became the best of friends.
Now it happened one evening that the prince-dwarfs overheard Snow White crying in her bed. Alarmed, they rushed to her side and begged her to tell them the cause of her distress. After much prodding, Snow White finally confessed her loneliness to the dwarfs, and told them of her deepest desire for a prince of her own to love. This declaration saddened the dwarfs greatly; but Doc suddenly announced that he knew a remedy for Snow White.
“What is it?” she asked.
Doc did not answer her question, asking her instead, “Do you trust your devoted dwarfs, Snow White?”
“Of course!” she cried.
“Lie down and close your eyes, then, and we shall see,” he continued.
Snow White complied, and at length she felt the hands of all seven of the little men upon her body, lifting her nightdress and alighting on her bare skin.
