Fifty Shades of Fairy Tales Omnibus
8 Ebooks in One
Roxxy Meyer & Leigh Foxlee
Copyright © 2013 Roxxy Meyer & Leigh Foxlee
Published by Wild & Lawless Writers
http://wildlawlesswriters.blogspot.com/
All rights reserved. No part of this ebook may be distributed, shared, resold, posted online, or reproduced in any electronic or hard copy form.
This ebook is a work of fiction. Any similarities between actual persons or events is entirely coincidental. This ebook contains adult content and is intended for a mature readership. All sexual scenarios depicted in this ebook occur between consenting adults over 18 years of age.
Cover art design by Wild & Lawless Writers.
The photo on the cover comes from a royalty free images section of a photo stock site. It is used here under a royalty-free license. The writer, publisher, and cover designer claim no rights to the original photo. Photographer and model have no affiliation with the author, cover designer, or publisher, and use of this photo does not suggest in any way that the model or photographer endorse the author’s work.
This omnibus includes:
Sleeping With Beauty (mf/ mfm)
The Ugly Duckling (mf)
Cindy Eller (mf)
Hans & Greg (mm)
Janet The Giant Lover (mmf)
The Executive’s New Clothes (mf/mmf)
Beauty Tames The Beasts (mmf)
The Little Mermaid (mmf)
Bonus Material
All fairy tales have a scorching heat level.
***
Sleeping With Beauty
Insomnia cured by BDSM and sexy fairies.
By Leigh Foxlee
***
Sleeping with Beauty
“I’d like to rock your world.”
Mike set the drink down in front of me and smiled, showing dazzling white teeth. His steely grey eyes twinkled.
I grinned and played along. “We’ve been over this before. You’re too young.” I flipped a straight strand of golden blonde hair out of my eyes and sipped on the concoction, complete with pink drink umbrella, he’d given me.
He hooked a thumb at a guy toward the end of the bar. “It’s not from me, sweetheart. It’s from him.”
Rock your world was the name of one of Mike’s specialties, and though I owned this place, I had forgotten what exactly the mixed drink contained. Mike was my head bartender, and I trusted him to take care of such recipes and all things alcohol in this place. He’d been with me three years and the kid had never let me down.
And considering he’s only ten years younger than me, I should really quit calling him a kid. How insulting. I can’t help myself. Sometimes I feel so much older than my 35 years.
“But you don’t look old, Kat,” Mike whispered close to my ear, as if he could read my mind. “You look like a foxy 25-year-old Jennifer Aniston.”
I waved him off good-naturedly and tried to hide my shiver. How the hell did he do that? It’s like he had a direct line into my thoughts.
“Well,” I said, pushing the drink away from me. “You can tell him thank you, but no thank you.”
Mike snickered and took away the alcohol. “Yeah, he kinda looks like a sleazy used car salesman, doesn’t he?”
I laughed. “Yeah, no offense to the guy, but he does.”
Mike moved off toward the balding gentleman, who looked like a cross between Larry David and George Bush. My head bartender looked decidedly pleased to be delivering my tactful turndown. Whether the guy really was as sleazy as he looked, I didn’t know, and I didn’t see the point in being intentionally cruel over a harmless gesture.
Although, by the spreading grin on Mike’s face as he returned, and the way the poor jilted guy slinked away from the bar, my employee may have elaborated on my polite refusal.
I shook my head and smiled. That man was incorrigible.
“So, how you been sleeping?” Mike opened up the small dishwasher we kept to wash glasses just under the counter.
I sighed and avoided his penetrating, compassionate gaze. “Not well.”
He shook a finger at me. “I could tell the insomnia’s back. You always get extra quiet when you aren’t sleeping well. And you forgot to do the books. You never forget to do the books on Friday.”
I bristled a bit at this, but swallowed down my defensive trigger and joked, “Well, maybe I’ve suddenly got a life, and now I’m doing the books on Monday.”
He gave that deep, throaty laugh I tried to deny had an effect on me. “Sweetie, I know everything about you, and I know you haven’t gotten a life yet.” His warm, strong finger swept under my chin and tilted my head up.
Uttered by different lips, those words would’ve come off as creepy. But, from Mike, they came off as caring, concerned, sad about my lack of social outings. I knew he worried about me. Worried that I worked too much.
He didn’t know the truth, though. That was one thing Mike Stansfield did not know about Ms. Katherine J. Leonard. (Call me Kat for short.) He didn’t know the effect I had on people.
It started, or at least I became first aware of it, in elementary school. I was about nine. I liked to watch the other kids playing on the tire swing, and I’d always been an observer. But, this day, my friend Robbie Golding asked me to play tag with him and some other kids, and I gleefully joined the small group.
I caught Robbie. Tag, you’re it! But, as kids will do, we got to wrestling on the school grounds. It was harmless fun, until Robbie started to gasp for air. The official diagnosis was asthma, but I knew. I don’t know how, but somehow I knew. I stole his breath away, and it most certainly was not a good thing.
After that, more strange things happened. Kids would complain they felt drained after a sleepover at my house. Like they had no energy and they could sleep for a week. Me, on the other hand? I’d feel energized. As if I could run circles around the high school track field from dusk till dawn.
And when I had sex, it only got worse. Lucky me. My first time, I thankfully only gave the boy a panic attack. But I stopped a man’s heart once. I bought my first vibrator after that experience.
But here’s the sadistic irony of my situation. I’m an insomniac, and the only thing that truly cures my insomnia is sex.
Universe has a really crappy sense of humor.
Mom took me to multiple specialists, doctors of all sorts, but no one has a clue what’s really wrong with me. Supposedly it’s all psychosomatic. It’s not psychosomatic when you’re in the ER, praying your boyfriend doesn’t die from having sex with you, let me tell you.
But what do I know? I’m a simple bar owner with a weak spot for cheesy 70s films and Channing Tatum. You can also see why Rogue from X-Men is my favorite superhero, I’m sure.
“Yeah, I can’t sleep.” I asked him to make me a lime margarita. “So what?”
He shrugged, but a smirk lingered at the corners of his mouth. “The offer still stands.”
I shook my head, smiling at him as I did so. “Nope. I never mix business with pleasure.”
His eyebrow raised and he shook a finger at me while he dried a glass. “That might be part of your problem, Ms. Kat.”
“Whatever, peanut gallery.” I waved him off, downed my sour-sweet drink, and slid off my stool. I went to gather empty glasses off tables while he gave last call.
After I locked the door behind the last straggler, I said goodbye to Mike as he went out the back exit. Then I headed up the spiral staircase that led to my apartment above the bar.
I froze when I noticed the bright red door leading into my home was already open an inch. A breath died in my throat and my
heart thumped like a frightened rabbit’s foot.
Who the hell is in my place?
Mike was gone, and I thought I was completely alone. I searched the narrow hallway, looking for something I could use as a weapon, should the intruder attack me. Finding nothing, I ran back downstairs to the bar, moving as quietly as I could, and snatched up a pool cue. I wasn’t going down without a fight.
Back at my apartment, I pushed the door open the rest of the way and slowly crept inside. My hand slid up the wall and I flipped the light switch up.
No one. A cheery amber glow filled the spacious living / kitchen area, revealing it was unoccupied. I breathed a sigh of relief, lowered the hand that gripped the pool cue, and went back to lock my door tight.
“Drop the weapon, Kat,” a soft, sexy voice said from behind me. “You don’t have to be afraid.”
I whirled around to find Mike standing by my lumpy beige couch. I gasped, and fear crawled up the back of my neck. What the hell was he doing in here?
“What the--” The pool cue clattered to the floor.
He raised his hand and made a weird gesture, like he was conjuring something. Suddenly I felt different, more relaxed. It was as if he whispered into my mind: Trust me.
“What’s going on?” My voice was slow and almost slurred. I wondered if I still had a slight buzz from the margarita.
He moved closer, with such stealth it was almost spooky. “I don’t like to use glamour, but I don’t want to scare you.”
My eyelids fluttered. My head felt thick. “Glamour?”
He took my hands and looked deep into my eyes. “When you were a kid, did you ever hear fairy stories about Halflings? Kids that were part human, part fairy?”
I nodded and wondered where this was going.
“Well, Kat.” He sighed, then ran a hand over his short, caramel brown hair. “You and I are Halflings. You’re part succubus, and I’m part incubus.”
I tried to back away from him, wanted to scream he was crazy, but my childhood came back to me--the draining of people’s energy--and it all made sense. Still, I shook my head. It was too unbelievable.
“I know.” His voice was deep and grave as those steely eyes held mine. “I know about everything. Your childhood, the man whose heart stopped.” He leaned down and brushed his lips over my knuckles when I shuddered at his admission. “And I’m here to help you, and you can help me. What do you say, Kat?”
“H-how can I help you?”
His grin was wide and wolfish, full of teeth. “You can’t sleep. Neither can I, and we both know what’ll cure it. How about you and I play a little game tonight? Have a sleepover?”
I took a deep breath, tried to stretch to my full five-foot-six, but I still felt short in comparison to his tall, broad self. Still, I mustered all my bravery and said, “Okay, let’s do this.”
And, like that, the towering hunk of fine masculinity produced a box of condoms from behind his back, plus a length of gleaming, braided white rope.
“Nylon,” he said, and winked. “It’s soft, silky. Less chafing.”
As he turned me around and led me past the lumpy couch, I asked, “Exactly what’re you planning here?”
One part of me was thrilled, but another part of me was tentative and ready to run from the room.
And I had questions for him about this whole Halfling business, like why did he seem to have control over his powers when I did not?
“I was raised in fairyland for the first half of my life,” he said, doing that mind reading thing again. “Now take your clothes off, sweetie.”
I felt my eyes grow to the size of saucers. “Excuse me?”
He waggled a finger and grinned. “You said you’d trust me.”
“I didn’t say that. You whispered the command in my mind.” I stuck my tongue out at him, knowing I was acting like a petulant child.
His face showed exasperation as he held out his hands and shook the coiled rope at me. “Do you want to sleep or not?”
“Yes,” I hissed.
“Fine. Naked and on your knees in ten minutes, or I’m leaving, and I won’t tell you how to control your powers.”
“Asshole,” I grumbled low, hoping he didn’t hear.
He sat me in my desk chair, a comfy but simple IKEA deal with padded seat and back. Then he untwined the rope slowly, watching me as his hands caressed the silky fibers before he wrapped one end around my ankle, and started binding me to the legs of the chair.
“Did you know, rope art can actually help stimulate pressure points that will help you relax.” After he bound the other ankle, he stood and placed a gentle kiss against my ear. “Help ease that tension away.” His breath fanning my lobe made me shiver.
The smooth, soft rope snaked around my calves, crisscrossed over my thighs, where he stopped to massage the sensitive flesh so close to my sex. Ever so lightly, he brushed one end of the braided coil over my tingling clitoris. My head fell back on my shoulders and I moaned. The stress of not sleeping, of life and its many quirks, flowed out of me with his deft touch.
He positioned my hips and pelvis so my pussy was completely exposed to him. Once I was completely bound, it would be a cinch for him to manipulate me in any way he chose, and I knew I would be at his mercy. I swallowed and focused on the end goal: an excellent night’s sleep. And, really, what was I being so uptight about? Sure, Mike was a bit younger than I usually liked, but he wasn’t hard on the eyes, and we had a mutually beneficially arrangement going on here. I needed to let it go.
He guided my hands behind the chair and bound my arms and wrists with an intricate pattern of knots. I tested the strength of my tethers just a bit, wiggling against the restraints. There was room to squirm, but I wouldn’t be getting out of this situation until he let me.
“Whenever you want free, just say the word.” He did that peeking at my thoughts thing again, then lavished attention on my breasts, massaging medium-sized handfuls before he tweaked and teased my nipples erect.
“Aren’t there safe words?” I managed between groans.
“Yeah.” He paused long enough to lick and suck both nipples until I bucked in the chair. “Some people use green, yellow, and red for their safe words. Green for go at it, yellow for slow down, cowboy, and red for ease off, Marquis de Sade.”
I chuckled. “Let’s go with that.”
“Works for me.” Then he stood and backed away from me, sporting a cheeky grin as he surveyed his handiwork. “Now, I’ll just go grab some toys outta your bedroom.”
“Wait,” I shouted at his retreating back, “how do you know about …? Oh, never mind.”
He returned with his hands full. I had to wonder if there were toys in there I didn’t even own! Two long, blue fluffy feathers stuck out of the pile.
I swallowed hard as he approached with said feathers and some other pleasure devices.
He walked behind me, trailing one of the feathers across my shoulders as he did so. As he circled me, he drew the soft, downy plumage over my breasts, tickling my nipples ever so lightly, and they hardened from the brief contact. Then the fuzzy tip trailed down my stomach. He swirled circles around my belly button before he teased my clitoris and wet, spread labia.
I moaned and strained in my bonds. The rope, I found, was not unpleasant. Quite the opposite. It seemed to massage my sore and knotted muscles with velvety fibers as the braided cords pressed into my flesh. He’d arranged the knots so, when I strained, two lengths threaded between my legs would press tight against my sex. The slightly abrasive strokes over my swelling clit, along with his teasing, threatening to drive me mad.
My eyes were closed when he dipped his head to kiss me, and I wasn’t expecting the tongue he jammed down my throat, but I wasn’t complaining either. He claimed my lips swiftly and kissed me breathless. I mewled into the forceful kiss, unable to help myself. I was overcome by the onslaught of passion. His tongue claimed mine with a hungry force that would not be denied. He nipped at my lips and our mouths fucked with a c
arnal fury, but he denied me the touch of his hands while he ravaged my mouth.
That is, until he put the nipple clamps on.
“I don’t own a pair of these!” I squawked in surprise.
He fastened a silver clip to each throbbing nipple, and a slice of pleasure pain seared through the sensitive tips. A sparkling blue jewel accented each clip, and they winked at me as I writhed under this new stimuli assault.
“You don’t own a pair.” He looked up at me and flashed a sly smile. “But I do.”
A small chain attached the instrument of torture, and in the middle, another chain dangled down, ending in a third silvery clip. This one he attached to my clitoris, and the jolt from the sharp sting when he did so made me buck so hard I moved the chair a little.
He stood and plucked at the chain that now ran in a taut line from between my breasts to my pussy. Sharp pain lanced through my sex and breasts, making me gasp, writhe, and moan loudly. He chuckled low and deep in his throat and appeared very satisfying with himself, and my display.
Again he swirled a feather around my breasts, then tickled my nipples with the downy tip while he tugged on my chains. My nipples and clit now ached so strong the pulse beating through them felt like a pounding drum.
He stripped down to a skimpy pair of underwear, and my eyes feasted on the specimen of man before me. His pecs were firm, buff, but not overboard bulging. His stomach was a flat, smooth plane, and his arms and legs were well muscled, strong. Truth be told, he did look a little like my heartthrob, Channing Tatum, but I’d never really realized this until now.
A fairy lover who looked like a movie star. Maybe my luck was improving.
Back on his knees, he pinched the clip around my clitoris, sending lightning sparks to my brain. Then he dipped his head and brushed his cool, pink tongue over the swollen bud. I came right then and there, shuddering wildly as I did so.
“Starting to feel more relaxed, Ms. Kat?” he drawled. “You’ll sleep like a baby tonight.”
He licked, nibbled, and tugged until I came a second time. Then he added another toy to our repertoire. It was my Zen vibrator, and, boy, did it ever help you reach nirvana. It had a special curve designed for g spot stimulation, and the smooth surface was like polished stone.
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