HOT GRIMM
by Amber Everfor
Text copyright © 2017 Amber Everfor
All Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
Welcome
Red Robin Hood And The Wolf God
Hansel and Gretel: Tabu
Snow White, Rose Red and Bear Gold
Welcome
Imagine hundreds of years ago, sitting around a fire, when all people had to entertain themselves were strong drink, sex and their imaginations, repeating and enhancing local legends or making them up on the spot. The Brothers Grimm sanitized that folklore in their fairy tales for children. But then, we children grow into adults with our own imaginations and libidos, so it's no wonder that we skew those childhood memories to their original flavor--bawdy and sometimes lurid.
ROBIN HOOD AND THE WOLF GOD is a very short example of that tradition. Jacob and Wilhelm never told, for instance, of Little Red Riding Hood's stripping for the wolf and joining him in bed, as she did in earlier versions of the story. She believed it was her grandmother, which is no less cringe-inducing.
Robin seeks privacy in the woods where she can live her fantasies, with the long red cloak covering her scant costume. A wolf approaches saying he'd watched her in her sexual abandon. A talking wolf must be divine, like the Greek god, Zeus seeking a human mate, right? Right?
HANSEL AND GRETEL is a far darker story of hunger and desperation, selfishness and child estrangement. Sexualized, it's an inevitable romp for a grown brother and sister who can only depend on each other. Then, they're offered a haven where they can be together, with lots and lots of mind-bending, will-crumbling treats. How much are they willing to submit to the witch? How much of their own TABU can go unpunished?
Snow White and Rose Red is a natural LGBT story, simply by making them friends, rather than sisters, in SNOW WHITE, ROSE RED AND BEAR GOLD, where the contribution of the Bear can't be ignored. We confine exploration to the humans, with the Prince in bear form urging them on, his lust practically bursting from his ursine body. When they find the gnome who had changed the Prince and they force him to reverse the spell, the trio revel in their mutual love and desire.
These three stories all feature enchanted animals, with the wolf, Hansel and Gretel's swan and the bear. Future installments will give a taste of the erotic to other fairy tales. Though we tone down the violence and gore, reconsider some characters and enhance the sensuality, the magic of the Grimms and the original storytellers remains.
I hope you enjoy them...and possibly be aroused.
Red Robin Hood And The Wolf God
Robin looked so sweet as she left the village with her picnic basket. Her red cape covered her from head to toe, hiding her secrets.
She panted in anticipation as she neared the forest. Was she going to meet a man? No. A woman? No. She’d tried both and been underwhelmed. In fact, the only one who had ever been able to satisfy Red Robin Hood was herself.
Her looks were delicate, with doe brown eyes, lightly blushing cheeks and a cascade of tea-brown hair, but she thought of herself more as animal than young woman. She was an animal burning with her own heat, desperate for one who could flood her with relief.
But until then, she had to do everything herself. The last house of the village disappeared from her view. She bumped against trees, liking the roughness of the bark through the cape.
She opened the cape. Her leather stockings rose to her thighs, secured by garters with metal clasps, visible under her minute scarlet skirt.
A breeze snuck up under that skirt to tickle her uncovered crotch. She gasped, wanting more. She pulled the long ribbons of her hood, exposing round breasts rising from her nipple-grazing blouse and tight black corset.
She spotted a strong, tall sapling, thin enough for her to wrap her hands around, but sturdy enough too. She smiled, dropping the basket of goodies to the ground.
She pushed the blouse lower, her naked breasts peaking in excitement as she jumped for the young tree. Enveloping her long legs around it, Robin pressed her body on its length and pulled up higher, biting her lip at the scratch of the pole’s fibers along her slit and in her deep cleavage. She licked and bit the tender bark.
She closed her eyes, thinking of the stories she loved of gods who came for women in other forms. Spinning around her natural dildo, she threw off the cape and clothes, stopping with her back pressed against it, sliding along its erectness.
“Yes,” she sighed, securing herself with a leg wrapped around the tree. she lifted her eyes to the sky. “No man or woman has satisfied me.”
She ran her hands over her strong and slender, voluptuous and yearning body. “Am I worthy of a god?”
Fingers in her cunnus, others pinching her nipples, writhing on her pole, willing a myth to take her, she barely heard, “Robin, is that you?”
Cursing, she quickly climbed down and threw the cape over herself as Gregor, the huntsman, came into view with his axe and swagger. His blond hair caught the rays of the setting sun, igniting his head and stylish, pointed beard with color.
“It is you,” he said. “I was afraid there was something wrong. I would hate for anything to happen to you, Robin.”
He moved nearer. Clutching the robe closed so she looked as demure as a child, she picked up the basket. “I’m fine. Just dropped the basket. Must be on my way to Grandmother’s house. Goodbye, Gregor.”
“You’re going to your grandmother’s this late? Maybe I should come by to escort you home.” He gave her the smile that melted other village girls but left her cold. “You remember what happened the last time I escorted you through the dark woods.”
The most boring ten minutes of my life while you fumbled with your clothes, pushed into me against a boulder and ejaculated before I even got wet, she said to herself. “I’ll stay with grandmother tonight, but you should be on your way. Goodbye, Gregor,” she tried again.
“If you’re sure…”
“Yes. Goodbye Gregor,” she said for the third time, walking away. The sun behind her, she strolled into the darkness of the woods, her naked skin tingling at the sounds of scurrying and brushing of leaves by unknown creatures. Red eyes seemed to bore into her as a massive grey wolf appeared and stood on two legs.
“Hello, Girl in the Red Hood. I saw you earlier. You’re very good with a pole. Too bad that man came before you were able to finish your…climb. Where do you go so late?”
Robin’s heart jumped to her throat. A talking wolf. He’s come for me. Unlike with Gregor, she dripped with longing for the wolf god. She remembered the stories of the goddess of the woods who was a she-wolf. They considered her one of them. She was worthy. She wanted to open her cape to the wolf right there, but nosy Gregor would probably show up again.
“I’m going to my Grandmother’s,” she said. “She lives just through there. the huntsman is about though, so animals shouldn’t use that route, but circle around with the setting sun.” Her eyes never left the wolf’s face as she spoke, invitation clear, seeping from her seductive voice, like the juices between her legs.
“And what about the grandmother?” the wolf asked.
Robin shrugged and walked past him, brushing against the rough grey fur and muscular body. She looked back over her shoulder, as if saying, “Leave it to me.”
Her grandmother would understand. She was the one who had told her she wasn’t meant for normal things and her dissatisfaction was only a preface to the ecstasy she deserved. The cottage glowed in a sensual light, like body heat in the winter.
She hurried inside with the basket, happy to see the old woman was asleep. She pulled her off the bed and dragged her to the closet, opening t
he sleeping mouth to pour drowsing wine into it. Grandmother would understand.
A howl from outside caused her to shiver and she jumped into the bed wearing her cape. The knock on the door nearly made her faint with desire. “Just lift the latch and come right in.”
The wolf walked on two legs, his claws clicking on the wooden floor, his musky smell filling the small room, his hulking shadow overwhelming the firelight. The teeth pointed white and wet as he grinned. “Grandmother, what full lips you have.”
Robin smiled and sat up in bed, opening the cape.
“Grandmother, what lovely breasts you have.”
“The better for nipping, my dear wolf god,” she said.
“And what long, shapely legs you have,” he said, reaching out a paw to touch them.
“The better to wrap around you,” she answered, her eyes scanning him. “And what bowed legs you have.”
He climbed onto the bed with a wolfish grin. “The better to straddle you, my dear.”
He leaned closer to her and she placed a finger on his long tongue. “And this?”
The wolf grinned again. “You will find it…better.”
She leaned back and closed her eyes, imagining her wolf as Zeus or Ares, as the tongue followed her curves. She moaned and lay her hand on his head. Was it smaller?
The tongue reached her legs, flicking from left to right, inner and outer, until she groaned and opened them further, using her foot to run along the wolf god’s fur, feeling skin instead?
She shook her head in denial as the tongue entered her, more stiff and powerful than Gregor’s penis had been. She raised her hips, succumbing to the god, exalting in being worthy, climaxing as if from Mt. Vesuvius, screaming her own glory.
Hands, not paws, cradled her face. A nose, not a snout nuzzled her neck. She opened her eyes. A man, not as handsome as Gregor, looked down on her.
“You will be my princess,” he said. “I’m a prince, turned into a wolf by an evil witch who said I could only be changed back by swallowing the cum of a willing woman.”
“Y-you’re a man?”
“A prince,” he said.
“But a man?” Disappointment scratched out of her throat, as suddenly dry as her disinterested cunt.
“A prince,” he said again, stressing the word, “from a rich kingdom. I will make you my wife.”
Robin wrapped her red cape around her. “But you’re just—“
“Robin,” shouted her grandmother from the closet. “All you have is a basket of bad wine and dry cake and a slutty wardrobe but a prince wants to marry you. Say nothing else!”
Robin looked at the plain face of the prince, remembering the wolf god tongue. She lay back down and opened her cape. “Take me.”
Still in the closet, Grandmother understood.
Hansel and Gretel: Tabu
The villagers all agreed. The woodcutter was a handsome man, as were his children. They were surprised when he married sour Maria, after ten years as a widower, until the innkeeper’s wife began whispering about hearing them in Maria’s room. He might have been much more handsome, but they seemed to satisfy each other quite well.
Her satisfaction, however, was short-lived when she moved into his cottage far from the village with his “children”. He had told her they shared a bedroom so she’d naturally expected small cherubs she could mother, not a lazier duplicate of his father, save for lack of beard, and worse, the nubile daughter.
Oh, Maria remembered seeing their mother shopping in the village before she’d died. That same bearing and assurance that everyone was looking at her, desiring her, was in Gretel’s sky-blue eyes, shapely limbs and, most infuriatingly, the high, pert breasts, under which the ends of her maple-brown braids curled to emphasize their perfection.
Hans couldn’t keep his eyes off of her, despite the brazen flirtations of village girls for the blond boy with stormy-sky eyes, broad chest, trim hips, and skin that naturally browned like his father’s.
Maria could only imagine what they did in that room, but her husband insisted they were innocent. He’d ensured they’d stay that way with the wall he’d built between them. He was so proud of the structure of thick rails and squares of cloth. It was secured just beyond the open door, so only Gretel could use the entrance for her side of the room. Hans had to crawl through the window.
He watched outside the window every night until Gretel entered. He grabbed his cock as she removed her dress and uncoiled her braids, tossing her head to loosen the long, silky locks. He slid his hand over his erection, licking his dry lips, wondering if his sister knew, did she do the things she did to him on purpose? His breath quickened, his skin heated as her silhouette raised one knee then another, caressing her skin while he abused his own.
There was a bare patch in the green grass under the window, the result of Hansel’s repeated excretions and Gretel’s teasing. Pumping his hand furiously, he made his nightly deposit, waiting until she blew out her candle and he could climb in the window and collapse on his own bed.
Through the fabric, the vague outline of her figure turned with her back to him, was still visible. A stifled giggle could also penetrate.
“Gretel?” There was no answer. Hansel lifted one side of his mouth in a smile. She knew and didn’t mind. Some day…
***
Of course, the little harlot was aware of the effect she had on men. Maria had seen the way she leaned over for the benefit of her brother while scrubbing the fireplace, or smiled, stretching over the table to give her father a tankard of ale and slowly pulling her arm back to extend the connection and she’d seen his eyes follow her.
“You’re wrong,” her husband said as they lay in bed under the eiderdown quilt made by his first wife. “My children are good and Gretel is innocent. And there’s the wall. Now, no more talk.”
He turned his head between her legs and spread his own legs wide over her mouth. Maria had been shocked the first time he’d suggested what he called sešdesmit deviņi, but she’d become very good at it, as he frequently told her. She puckered her lips on the tip of his cock and coaxed a tiny bit of fluid from it, before sliding her mouth farther. He had a lovely taste from all his time outdoors, nutty.
His toes braced on the bed, he bounced his hips up and down, creating friction between her lips and allowing her teeth to slightly graze him. She ran her hands over the blond hair on his legs then wrapped her arms around his firm buttocks. This beautiful man was hers and another woman would have him over her dead body!
As a woodcutter, he likened Maria’s cunt to the cut of a seedling, tender, with rings leading to the core and pulp oozing with sap. He tongued deeper. She might not be as pretty as his first wife, but she was pretty from this angle.
Maria lifted her leg to wrap around his waist, coaxing him in as far as possible. He sucked the core, while his calloused fingers circled her rings with a sweet abrasion. She moaned and lifted her other leg but he disengaged.
When she began moaning and opening her mouth, she gave less attention to his wood. That’s when he knew it was time to stand at the end of the bed and pull her to him. He lifted her legs up on his chest and slapped her thighs, as he pumped in with a vigor that had her writhing, panting.
She pressed her heels into his clavicle and squeezed his head until he turned purple. Not all women would be willing to participate in such activities. It was one way she held onto him. She snapped around him before shattering, something that had convinced him to marry her. It undid him and he poured into her, eyes closed, missing her look of ecstasy while imagining a more comely face.
He returned to the bed with his back to her and she ran her hand over his now fluid body until she fell asleep, as content as she could ever be. He was hers to her dying day.
***
Gretel considered herself the mistress of the house. Her mother had taught her how to care for and please everyone she loved and that’s what she wanted to do. She cleaned, sewed and cooked, while Maria complained about shortage o
f food and how Gretel should lace her bodice more tightly or where larger skirts. “Who are you trying to tempt, Girl?” she demanded, sneering.
Gretel ignored her, intent on making the cottage as nice as possible for her brother and father, just as her mother had.
“Berries and cream, they’ll love that” she said, walking back to the house with milk from the cow sloshing in her pail.
“Sounds delicious. Am I invited?” asked a deep voice behind her.
She nearly lost the milk as she turned in surprise to see Rolf, another woodcutter who sometimes worked with her father. He too had long, blonde hair and boasted about his Viking heritage. His blue eyes scanned Gretel’s figure, and she blushed under his stare.
“No, there will only be enough for my father and Hansel,” she said, pouting her lips in a way that caused a tightening in Rolf’s already snug breeches.
“Don’t be like that, Gretel,” he said brushing his fingertips on the ballooning sleeve of her blouse. She shivered in response and he tugged, bringing the sleeve down, exposing a shoulder. He buried his face in the hollow between there and her neck. “You’ll one day be my wife and you don’t want there to be too many things I must punish you for, do you?”
She pulled away from him, the blouse dropping lower to uncover the top of a bulbous breast. “Never!” she shouted, flouncing away from him.
He laughed behind her. “Jā, you will. Maria will see to it.”
“He’s right,” Gretel said, returning to the cottage, cool and dark in the early morning. Her father had rejected Rolf’s request for her hand once, but he could be worn down by a determined harridan, like Maria. She pumped some cool water into the basin and placed the milk there and got another pail.
Rolf was handsome and had a house in the village but that’s not what she wanted. She wanted the life her mother had had.
She walked away from the house, down the trail leading to the creek and the berry bushes. A white sky in the west wasn’t yet warmed by the sun, but the birds chirped and the crisp needles from days past crackled under her boots. To her, this was part of her domain as mistress, and she allowed her shoulders to loosen from their tense state and her breath to even out.
Hot Grimm- Book 1: Fairy Tales for Adults Page 1
