Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women

by Nancy Madore

  The women climbed awkwardly onto the bed and arranged themselves beside each other as they had before, with their heads facing in opposite directions at eye level with the other’s hips. The prince watched silently as the women struggled to overcome their embarrassment. He didn’t even blink, so loath was he to lose sight of them for even an instant as they tentatively touched each other’s soft flesh, gently prying it open and exposing the inside completely to his gaze, and touching the tender, aching flesh with their tongues. He slowly paced up and down the length of the bed, first on one side and then on the other as he watched, desperately wanting to witness the apparition from every possible angle. He was mesmerized by the image of the goose girl’s small, pink tongue as it worked its way into his wife’s most private place, a place where he had thought himself to be the only trespasser. He was equally enthralled by the sight of his wife performing that same unorthodox ritual with her own sweet lips and tongue, so that he could not resist kissing her lips and tasting the evidence of what he was seeing there.

  The goose girl did not even notice the prince, so happy was she to once again hold her maid in her arms. She caressed her brazenly with her lips and tongue, delighting in every shudder and quake of her lover’s body in response to her touch.

  And finally, the maid, who had experienced so many conflicting emotions that day, began to relax. It had all been so traumatic: beginning with the shame of having what she’d done exposed, followed by the terror of the consequences she might suffer for her actions, and finally, her stunned relief upon hearing her husband’s declaration that her punishment would go no further than that room. She had been treated with more kindness than she deserved, and her punishment was, in fact, the very thing she had been dreaming of all these months, for, although she had fallen in love with her husband, she had not been able to completely forget her mistress’s charms, or how exquisite their lovemaking had been.

  It took her body a few minutes to recover from the shock of the day’s upheaval, but finally, she began to lose herself in the princess’s softness. Pretty soon the two were just as engrossed in each other as they had been that night by the stream.

  Unable to endure being only a spectator for another moment, the prince gently pushed his wife away from her lover and knelt between the goose girl’s legs. He stared into his wife’s face.

  “Touch her.”

  His wife reached down and touched the goose girl uncertainly with her fingers. The prince watched her fingers play along her opening, and he pressed against them gently, forcing her to be more intimate. He bent over to kiss his wife’s lips as he did so. With his lips still touching hers, he whispered, “Tell me what she feels like.”

  She shuddered as a myriad of overpowering emotions clamored within her. Seemingly of their own accord, her lips whispered the true response to his question. “Soft, wet,” and after a short pause, she added, “warm.”

  He pulled himself away from his wife so that he was once again facing the goose girl, but his eyes never left hers. The goose girl watched them both with interest, opening her legs wide and moaning lightly. He said to his wife, “Open her for me.”

  The maid felt a momentary pang of jealousy. But in the next instant she thought, What right have I to be jealous, when I have taken all of this and more from the princess already? Furthermore, how can I feel jealous for one that which I love? For she realized that she still loved the princess, and silently vowed that she would never betray her again.

  Without further delay, the maid readied the goose girl for her husband’s entry. She trembled under the influence of the many sensations mingling within her, and at length she was aware of her own throbbing need as she watched her husband slowly take the goose girl to mate. The goose girl moaned as she accepted from the prince the same pleasure he had given his wife so many times before. The prince watched his wife’s face as she watched him, and it enhanced his pleasure.

  The maid could not take her eyes from the image before her. When she saw the goose girl’s flushed face she understood perfectly the pleasure she was feeling. And at last she was aware of how the goose girl had suffered because of her.

  Without realizing her action, the maid reached out her hand and touched the goose girl’s face, running her finger across her lips. Her hand slowly moved down, tracing the curve of her jaw and lower still, to caress a soft breast.

  The goose girl moaned fretfully, caught up in the rapturous surge of her mounting pleasure. Suddenly the maid wanted to help her mistress if she could. She slowly moved her hand lower, and even lower still, until she reached the secret place she knew so well, where she worked her fingers gently, round and round, faster and faster.

  The goose girl moaned louder, panting for air. The prince continued to thrust himself into her as he stared, fascinated, at his wife. She smiled as she continued to massage the little swollen mound, whirling it round and round, gently but firmly. She was getting closer.

  The maid bent down to kiss her mistress’ feverish lips. The goose girl whimpered and moaned. And still, the prince thrust himself into her. And his wife’s fingers kept going round and round.

  Suddenly the goose girl’s eyes grew wide, and her body trembled violently as she cried out. In a rush of emotion she embraced her maid and kissed her repeatedly.

  But there was still the matter of the prince. The maid looked up at her husband.

  “Lie down, wife,” he demanded.

  She shivered with anticipation, even as she suddenly burst into tears.

  The goose girl immediately rushed to her aid and held her close, but the prince gently pried his wife away from her.

  He pulled his wife into his arms, where he took her, gently and lovingly, even as the goose girl looked on with interest. He kissed his wife’s wet cheeks and attempted to soothe her, saying, “You are my rightful wife, for it is you who really wished to marry me.” He knew that the goose girl would not have made him happy, and besides, it was too late, now that he had already fallen in love with her maid.

  At hearing his declaration, his wife was filled with joy. She gazed at the goose girl, while her husband continued to gently make love to her. The goose girl snuggled closer to her and gently kissed her lips.

  The maid slowly wound her arms around the goose girl, pulling her so close that their breasts were pressed tightly together. Thrilling sensations shot through her as she divided herself between her two lovers. From the waist up, she clung to the goose girl, who whispered little endearments between kisses, and pinched her nipples teasingly.

  But from the waist down the maid was engaged in a much more tumultuous embrace with her husband, the prince. She clutched him with her legs as he thrust himself repeatedly into her, his eyes hungrily watching the two women clinging so fetchingly to each other. And once again, the goose girl returned a favor to her friend, by carefully reaching her hand down to the place where she and her husband were joined, and knowingly caressing her just above that opening. The maid clung desperately to both the goose girl and her husband as she screamed out her pleasure.

  The prince now wanted his wife all to himself and, gently pushing aside the goose girl, he leaned forward to claim her lips with his, pushing her legs forward as he did so. This movement had the effect of spreading her body wider apart to better receive him, and he at last gave in to his own desire to be satisfied. The goose girl watched with interest as the prince satisfied himself with his wife.

  And later, when the three lay quietly together, the former maid reached for the true princess, suddenly anxious to somehow make amends to her for all that she had suffered. She would never again harm another woman in an effort to benefit herself!

  “You must come to the castle and live as a royal princess,” she begged. “I shall be your maid and will work day and night to make everything up to you!”

  Her husband lifted his head from the bed, about to protest her suggestion, but the goose girl interrupted him. “If you truly wish for me to live in this castle, I shall most ha
ppily agree, but I do not think it would be appropriate for a princess to act as my maid.”

  “But we all know I am not really a princess,” uttered the repentant maid.

  “But you are,” argued the former goose girl.

  “Indeed you are!” the prince spoke up. “I should hope, anyway, that marrying me would raise your status from that of a mere maid!” Both princesses laughed.

  The prince rested again, while the princesses whispered endearments to each other and excitedly made plans for the future—their future, together. And again, it never occurred to either princess to consult the prince on any of these matters.

  But, strange as it may seem, the prince did not mind. In fact, he has never been known to utter a single complaint about any of his wife’s decisions since that day!

  The Sheep in Wolves’ Clothing

  I am a lady. I always conduct myself in a manner that is befitting a lady. And for my efforts I am duly rewarded, as are all ladies, with respect from the men and women who are my peers. This may seem small reward for the difficulties one faces in meeting the stringent expectations placed upon ladies, and admittedly, as the years slip past me, I do find myself more and more aware of the limitations that enclose me and the resulting deficiency of new opportunities presented me. But what are my alternatives?

  This is not to say that I regret the decisions I have made. Of all the possible lifestyles I could have chosen as a woman, this was, without a doubt, the most tolerable one for me. It is just that I can’t help wondering why it is only for women that the boundaries between the limited choices remain so distinct.

  Have you ever noticed, for instance, how women with a strong maternal instinct tend to lose other aspects of their personalities upon having a child? Either from within herself or from without, I truly know not which, she appears to feel some kind of threat against her very right to be a mother, should she engage in any activity perceived as nonmaternal. She forgoes opportunities for professional advancement and denies her sexuality, dressing herself primly, sometimes even matching her own clothing to that of her children. Eventually opportunities that are sexual or professional diminish, and she becomes one dimensional and dull to anyone out of diapers.

  Then, of course, there is the woman who chooses the professional lifestyle. Her peers are not as tolerant as those of the mother. She is in dangerous territory and cannot yield to the less sophisticated of her natural tendencies, lest she be deemed “unprofessional” and lose all that she has worked so hard for. She must be very careful how she presents herself and how she behaves. If she has children, she seems constantly weighed down by guilt, for to remain successful in her career it is necessary to overcome those maternal instincts that might be considered weak and unprofessional by her contemporaries.

  Surely the worst fate by far, though, is that of the woman who chooses sexuality as her predominating course in life—usually a choice that is discovered on the path of least resistance, or is not even a choice at all, but an only option. Though this woman appears to be admired by men, she is really quite lonely, for they merely use her. She parades around in skimpy clothing, dangling the only carrot she believes to be in her possession, and her one and only chance for finding love and security. She allows herself to be exploited, only to invariably end up with nothing, for she alienates other women and relieves men of all accountability. She sometimes even loses her right to the maternal part of herself altogether, if she is naive enough to try and breach the boundaries of these two lifestyles and someone decides to call her on it.

  Men, of course, have no such boundaries. And yet men seem to be the ones most determined to keep women’s boundaries intact. I’m not sure why this is, since it most definitely makes things almost as unpleasant for them as for women. But it seems these boundaries produce a small measure of safety for men. They help define the women in their lives. It is not a foolproof plan, of course, but it works well enough and, I suppose, in their estimation, it is worth the cost.

  As I have already stated, I have never regretted the choice I made, but rather that I had to make a choice to begin with. And though I am as happy as a woman within my boundaries can be, I have sometimes wondered what it would be like to temporarily escape into a different reality.

  But how could I escape, even briefly, without risking everything?

  I had given this much thought, especially in recent years, and had come to realize that there was only one answer. I would have to temporarily become someone else. But who?

  This was a significant question for, if I were in fact going to conduct such an experiment, I would most assuredly want to gain the maximum amount of pleasure from the experience. For me, there was only one person who could help me realize my objective.

  One evening, I approached my husband with the matter—not directly, of course; that would have indeed been foolish. I did not want to terrify or alienate him. But I needed his participation, even if unwittingly, as well as the benefit of his experience. The irony of the situation did not escape me, and I admit I was somewhat displeased by it, but this was not the time to resent that my husband, simply because he was a man, was entitled to have such experiences at his disposal while I was not.

  I generally have very little difficulty getting what I want from my husband. He is kind and gentle, as far as husbands go, and over the years I have developed a fairly methodical approach to handling him. It is a rather roundabout way of getting something, I confess, and perhaps a bit childish too, but it works so well that I am hard-pressed to find a better method. I will divulge my strategy here, in case you have a mind to test it for yourself.

  Always when I want something from my husband, I first question his love for me. This sets the tone I want, for it puts him in the position where he is making a declaration that in a few moments I will give him the opportunity to prove. With such an advantageous start, it seems unlikely indeed that one could fail. Besides that, I dearly love to hear him say it.

  Next I make my husband aware that I want something from him, but I always ask if he will do it before I tell him what it is! He will generally answer in the affirmative, even if there is a tiny pause before he does so, and sometimes even a little disclaimer, such as, “if I can,” or something to that effect. But I do not pay much attention to those. The important thing is that, like most husbands, he is willing to please me if he can. It is always more agreeable to my husband to please me when he imagines himself a wonderful benefactor by doing so. What does it matter if I sometimes think I should be entitled to these little “gifts,” without having to appeal to my husband’s ego? Such thoughts are not worth developing, for they are obstacles between a woman and what she wants. They are mere romantic notions that, if allowed, will interfere with the objectives of a lady. And furthermore, they have nothing whatever to do with love, for whatever his faults, I know that my husband loves me.

  But in this particular instance, I was still uneasy about telling my husband what it was that I wanted. I knew that the thing would at first be distasteful to him, so I delayed a little longer, warning him that it would be difficult, but stressing its importance to me. So heartfelt was my supplication that I actually summoned tears to my eyes, and was even compelled to pause a moment in order to compose myself before I could continue. With the utmost concern, my husband took my hands in his and assured me fervently that he would indeed do everything in his power to fulfill my wish to the letter. Having his full commitment, I proceeded.

  “My wish, dear husband, is to know the intimate details of the most unique and exciting sexual encounter you have experienced.” I watched his concern turn to shock. Then he laughed. I suppose it was a silly thing for me to have made such a fuss about, but you must realize that, as a proper lady, very little was expected of me in the bedroom. Indeed, very little happened there at all, of late. I worried that he would not take me seriously.

  Slowly his laughter died down, and he gave me a fatherly smile. Just as I had feared, he was about to placate me with on
e of our own dull experiences. I placed my hand on his lips.

  “Before you answer my request, hear me out,” I entreated. “I know you love me and I am convinced of your respect. Because of these two things (things that I deeply value), I believe I must be eliminated from the compilation of memories from which you will choose. I am not looking for a story of romance or love. I want only to hear of your most memorable, unusual and exciting sexual encounter with a woman—no matter how shocking, horrifying or embarrassing. All I ask is that you truly pick out the very best incident you can remember, and that you do not play it down to spare my feelings.”

  I thought I knew the meaning behind every expression that marked my husband’s handsome features, but I had never before seen that particular look on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again.

  I realized then that he did, in fact, have such a memory. It was in his mind at that very moment! My heart began to beat faster. I must know it! Real tears flooded my eyes this time as I grasped his hands urgently.

  “I know it’s an odd request, but I really want to know about it,” I told him. Truly, the only other hope I had of gaining knowledge about such matters would have been for me to turn to a total stranger, and I was not quite that dissatisfied with my situation yet!

  My husband ultimately gave in, of course, but I vow, it was more difficult than the time I wanted that terribly expensive diamond bracelet!

  He was genuinely uncomfortable when he at last began to relate the incident to me. It was an experience that he had in his youth, many years ago. As he reluctantly described the affair to me, there was no doubt that my husband told the truth, for the expression on his face combined with the slight quaver in his voice thoroughly convinced me of the authenticity of all he said. And luckily, the incident did not repulse me. It was something I had never tried before, something I assumed my husband was not interested in, but then, it wasn’t exactly something a man would be comfortable suggesting to a lady like me. How odd that the mere thought of it should send thrills of excitement through me! Yes, this had been a wise course to take. I now knew whose shoes I would borrow to escape my reality and sample the delights of a vastly different existence.