Fifty Shades of Fairy Tales Omnibus

by Roxxy Meyer, Leigh Foxlee

  A new wave of scents greeted me when I entered the bathroom. A musky fragrance entangled with a spicy perfume. On the back of the white toilet, crème and royal blue candles burned. Steam rose high in the air and misted the mirror. The old fashioned clawfoot tub was half filled with water and a chair waited close by, as did a shaving kit set out on a silver tray. A straight razor gleamed as light from the ceiling lamp bounced off its blade.

  Hans sat on the lid of the toilet. He was clad in nothing but leather pants and a sideways smile full of wicked promises.

  “Sit.” He pointed to the chair near the bathtub.

  I swallowed and stared at the straight razor. His games intrigued me, but the blade made me nervous. After all, I barely knew this guy, and he was once suspected of murder, though he claimed innocence.

  “Greg,” he said when I continued to hesitate, “I’ve let you into my home, shoved a ball plug up your ass and a ring around your cock, and I’m letting you stay the weekend. I think you can trust me.”

  I blurted laughter at that. “You could be luring me into a false sense of safety.”

  He stood and moved closer. Our noses and lips hovered inches apart. “If I wanted you dead.” He paused to sweep a brief, sensuous kiss across my mouth. “You’d already be gone.”

  My heart sped up a notch or two. “You’re not exactly building my trust in you here.”

  He placed his fingers in the center of my chest and pushed until I sat back in the chair. “Take another chance. Play another round. I promise I won’t hurt you … unless you want me to.” He picked up the glass mug, dipped the shaving brush in the water, and then swirled it in the soap cake until a froth of bubbles spilled over the rim of the cup.

  “Then you level with me,” I said, as the wiry bristles of the shaving brush tickled my chin. “You tell me who killed Rebecca, if it wasn’t you.”

  He nodded, continued to lather up my face. “We’ll get to that.”

  He went to his knees and moved close between my legs as he soaped up my two days beard growth. I’m a fairly hairy guy, so by day four I’ve got a full on beard happening. I told him to leave the goatee alone, though.

  While he swirled the brush over my skin, his smooth leather pants stroked my balls. The belt he wore grazed the bottom of my hardening cock, creating a sublime friction that made me groan low in my throat. The fine hairs at the base of his flat stomach teased my glans.

  “Let me tell you a story.” He put the soap mug down and pressed his body, his heat, even closer. “Once upon a time, Rebecca and I liked to experiment. Sexually. She and I loved each other very much, and we weren’t possessive over each other’s bodies. We knew who our hearts belonged to.”

  He brought the straight razor up and touched it to my cheek. His other hand coiled around my stiffened cock. I held my breath a moment and closed my eyes, trying not to squirm as he began to pump his hand up and down my erection while he swiped whiskers from my cheek.

  “Don’t move an inch,” he whispered. “I’ve got a steady hand, but I’d hate to damage such a handsome face.”

  I could’ve gotten up, could’ve shoved him away, but something made me stay still, accept his challenge. Like I wanted to please him as much as I wanted to be pleased, which made no sense, since I barely knew this guy. But a story was on the line, too, and I’d never been one to wimp out when it concerned juicy information for an article.

  “Sergeant Fields--Hank--found out Rebecca and I often played with other people, and Hank had a thing for my Rebecca. He wanted into our dungeon, but Rebecca said no. You see, Hank was married, but he wouldn’t tell his wife, Hannah, about some of the things he was into. Rebecca believed in complete honesty between life partners, so she refused to play with anyone who kept their desires secret from their significant other.”

  He swiped the blade down my cheek again while he swirled his finger under the ridge of my glans. I struggled not to lift my ass off the seat when he dipped his head and licked a bead of pre-cum from the tip.

  “Hank grew obsessed?” I asked, my voice strained from my efforts to remain statute-still.

  Hans nodded. “Rebecca…” His hand paused on the razor and on my dick. I felt the tip of the blade resting against my chin and I breathed steady. “You had to see her to believe her,” he continued. “She was beyond beautiful. Hair the color of a sunset. Eyes so green they looked like emerald. It was easy to get lost in her.”

  “How did he kill her?”

  He finished shaving one cheek, all the while fondling my scrotum until I had to tighten my stomach painfully hard to keep from bucking my hips. Still, my question went unanswered.

  Then, as the blade made a whisper soft stroke over my top lip, he spoke. “He waited until she was alone, doing a ritual for Summer Solstice. I caught him …”

  The blade fluttered away from my cheek, and when I looked at Hans I found his head bent so I couldn’t see his eyes. His shoulders shook with grief.

  I laid a hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

  He sniffed, but still didn’t look at me. “She was already dead when I got there. He strangled her, but the sonofabitch wasn’t fast enough to get away from me.” He raised his head then, and the sheen in his eyes was a mixture of pure misery and rage. “I made sure Hank would never hurt anyone again.”

  I took the razor from his shaking hand and quickly finished shaving myself. I managed to only cut myself once. A small nick on the chin. He watched me, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears and his mouth pulled down. He seemed disappointed in himself for breaking in front of a stranger, so once I finished I grasped both his arms and made him meet my gaze.

  “Round two is over,” I said, sweeping a golden lock from his forehead. “Let’s switch up the pace.”

  I stood and held my hand out to him, which he took as he rose from his knees. Then I washed the traces of soap from my face and drained the tub before filling it with fresh, steaming water. I stepped into the hot, soothing bath and held a hand out to him. He removed his pants and joined me.

  “Looks like you could use a friend tonight,” I said. “Not just a playmate.”

  He smiled a vulnerable, sincere smile that made him look like one of those angels in old paintings.

  I was rock hard and ready from his cock torment. So I pulled him down on top of me in the water, sending up a wave that spilled over the lip of the tub, and I kissed him until we both panted for breath.

  I turned him so we spooned, then I licked and kissed the beads of sweat and water from his temple, his cheek. One hand wrapped around his upper chest, hugging him tight to me, while the other slid down his water slickened torso, seeking out the stiff, thick cock that jutted up from the nest of golden hair between his legs.

  I worked him with a tight grip, varying up the pressure of my hold. He writhed against me, and his wet skin slithered back and forth over my own aching erection. It felt so good, so hot. I explored his pecs, the muscles lining his ribs and stomach. All the while, I kept milking his cock, and his pre-cum spurt more and more. I knew he would soon cum, and I had to have him first.

  He wriggled in my arms and turned to face me. His gaze was molten with desire. “Pour hot wax on my nipples,” he begged in a hoarse voice before he kissed me. “Pour it all over my chest.”

  I pulled back from him a bit, stared into those stunning eyes. “Are you sure?”

  He wore that sexy smile again as he touched my face, trailing fingers down my cheek. “You have so much to learn about the benefits of pleasurable pain.” And then he winked before he leaned forward and scooped a blue candle off the back of the toilet.

  He handed me the glowing pillar and said, “I’ll tell you if it’s too intense. Don’t worry. Remember our safe words?”

  I nodded and he eased back into position atop my chest.

  I’d tried stuff with other lovers--handcuffs fastened to bedposts, a slap or two planted on a willing, firm butt cheek, sex toys and sensation lubes--but I’d never delved too far into bdsm.
Still I understood enough to know that some people into this sexual subculture enjoyed the rush a person got from adrenaline released during pain / pleasure stimulation. It became a natural high. A test of one’s mind over matter, and though I had never really experienced it like this until Hans, I could understand the appeal of this world.

  I tipped the candle over his pinkish brown nipple and let the pale blue stream of wax dribble onto his aureole. When it hit his flesh, he cried out and arched his back deep. His hand went to my hip and his fingers dug into my flesh, grasping hard as this intense sensation rocketed through him. His eyes went wide and euphoric, and his mouth dangled open as the stimuli took him over completely.

  At his request, I repeated the process with his other nipple. His right aureole looked a bit swollen and red, but he told me to keep going. He knew his threshold. He thrashed and growled atop me, his ass caressing my cock until it burned with the need to fuck him. I groaned in time with his groans.

  “Down my chest.” His breath was shallow and rapid. “Then you can fuck me.”

  I did as he requested, letting a trail of the fluid blue wax spill onto his gleaming, wet skin. It mingled with the water beading his lean pecs and ran down in a thin rivulet until it hardened from the cool air. He sighed and shuddered, and his eyes closed as he touched the wax that now melded to his flesh. Bits of the cooled candle flecked off his skin and fell into the water.

  He turned in my arms again and clutched my face. “Now, fuck me. Hard.”

  “Condoms?” I arched an eyebrow. After all, we were perfect strangers, and neither of us knew each other’s sexual history.

  “I can guarantee I’m clean,” he spoke sincerely. “Derek is the last man I touched, and we only made out. I never slept with him.”

  “I’ve been with Derek often,” I said, laying my sexual history on the line. “But I know he’s clean. He’s picky about who he screws and he gets tested, and makes me get tested. Guy’s a little obsessive compulsive about his sexual hygiene, but I think that’s a good thing.”

  “So you trust me?” He smoothed my dark, wet hair back.

  I gave him a feral kiss and said, “Yes.”

  Then I spun him around, which made water slosh up the sides of the tub, and I positioned him to take my cock.

  I nudged my plump glans slowly into his opening, taking my time stretching him wide for my thick shaft. He moaned and his eyes fluttered closed. As his anus relaxed, he took more of me. Inch after inch slipped in, and I slid closer to my own personal version of heaven. I pumped in and out smoothly, measuring my thrusts so I wouldn’t hurt him with my impressive girth.

  He reached back and clutched at my neck then he growled against my lips. “Fuck me harder. I won’t break.”

  I did as he commanded, shoving my penis in deep, stroking his prostrate until he closed his eyes and moaned over and over, lost to his building climax. While I fucked him like a feral beast, I coiled my wet hand around his erection once more and worked his foreskin up and down his veiny shaft. I pulled my grip away long enough to tease and tug at his balls. Then when I milked his penis again, it was mere seconds before his swollen glans spit pearly cum high into the air. It sounded like falling rain when it hit the water, and it spattered the sides of clawfoot tub.

  ***

  He took me into his bed and we tucked ourselves beneath warm flannel blankets and a patchwork quilt. I fell asleep to the sound of crickets and frogs singing beneath the open bedroom window.

  We woke up early, and Hans treated me to a delicious breakfast of ham and eggs with strong black coffee.

  After I helped him with the dishes, he turned to me and said, “I want to show you something. Something for your story. Something no one else has seen.”

  I went and grabbed the digital voice recorder I’d been using to take down his info. He didn’t know I’d been conveniently smuggling it into our game sessions. When I met him in the kitchen, he was sporting that wily smile and holding a blindfold.

  I stopped, gave a frown at the piece of black silk he held, then grinned. “What’s this about?”

  “Protection.”

  My eyebrow raised. “Not another game?”

  He chuckled. “Maybe later. No, this is just a little insurance.”

  I shoved my hands in the pockets of my cargo pants. “You said you trusted me last night.”

  He nodded and walked closer with the blindfold outstretched. “And I do, but you are the first person I’ve ever taken to this place. Call me suspicious, but I don’t want you mapping out the location to Derek later. Besides, you said you trusted me, too.”

  I held up my hands and gave a grin of compromise. “Okay, you win. Show me what you got.”

  He moved behind me quick as a cat and wrapped the silky cloth over my eyes. The knot he tied at the back of my head was snug but comfortable. After he fastened it, he nipped at the top of my ear and whispered, “Let’s go.”

  My world became absolute darkness as he took my arm and led me out of the house, down the few stairs leading from the porch, and into his car. We drove for about an hour, I estimated. Then he led me out of the car and through undergrowth that crunched beneath my loafers. The smell of wet earth was sharp in my nostrils. Spindly branches slapped at my arms and face as we walked.

  I thought about how vulnerable I’d made myself to this guy. All for a boring local legend story that had, over this weekend, become far from boring. But maybe, though I didn’t want to admit it, this was about more than that. Maybe I felt compassion for Hans and his story of heartbreak. Perhaps it struck a raw nerve, reminding me of Doug, the lover who left me long ago after a five year partnership. He said I was too cold, too emotionally distant, and he could never tell if I really loved him. So, maybe I could identify with the loss Hans felt, although his loss had been far more tragic than mine.

  Still, as we hiked through the woods, dodging trees that grew in a sinuous path, I remembered what he’d said about taking care of the sergeant, and I wondered if that was what he had in store for me? Was Hans really about to silence me, just in case I printed more than he was comfortable about sharing with the Review readership? I’d just have to take my chances.

  We finally stopped and he took the blindfold off. I took in the lumpy patch of forest we stood in. It wasn’t particularly beautiful. The maples here were too sparse and thin. A lone fir and a few badly scarred oaks also dotted the landscape. Small, muddy hills that sprouted patchy, brown grass stretched before me. The land had an ominous feel to it, as if it watched and resented my presence.

  Hans led me to a sickly looking maple and he cleared away the leaves from the mound next to the tree. Using a shovel he’d brought with him from the car, he dug a shallow hole in the mound and pulled a small plastic bag out. He put the package on the ground in front of me and opened it, displaying its contents.

  A half dozen gingerbread poppets, wrapped in plastic to preserve them, were revealed.

  “This is what’s left of Sargeant Fields,” Hans told me.

  I gaped at him, but tried to keep my cool, despite the way my heart sped up. My palms started to sweat when I looked at his shovel and thought of how easy it would be to cave my head in with the tool.

  “The rest of him,” he continued, meeting my gaze with those unreadable eyes, “is in the bellies of Darmoor folks who doubted my innocence.”

  I backed away from him, aghast and somewhat afraid for my life.

  His eyes went from impassive to weary and pleading. “I know, Greg. What I did was unspeakable.” His shoulders sagged. “Revenge and love are powerful. They can make you do wonderful and terrible things.”

  “How do I know you won’t kill me now?”

  He gave a sad laugh. “I haven’t killed anyone since the sergeant. Or before. And I have no desire to kill again. I’m not some sociopath or serial killer. I was just an angry man who took vengeance for the woman he loved.”

  He could justify it all he wanted. He was still a killer, and I was still jumpy in
these eerie woods and circumstances. “Why … why did you bury a piece of him out here?”

  Now his smile turned slightly menacing, sending a shiver up my spine. “I gave the woods an offering and the trees keep my secret. As far as the people of Darmoor know, Sergeant Fields disappeared without a trace. When he vanished, the town divided. Half the people decided Fields must’ve killed Rebecca, while the other half still suspected me. But my name was cleared, and there was nothing they could do but spin their gossip.”

  “The forest protects you and you protect it?” I asked, thinking his esoteric air of mystery was rubbing off on me.

  He winked and turned back to the car. “You could say that.”

  ***

  I packed up my bag and headed downstairs at dawn on Sunday morning. The story I’d write was already forming in my head. This year, the Darmoor murder legend piece would be an article readers would talk about for a long time. And it would be to my credit. Landing this could get me that job I’d just applied for with a prominent Toronto television station.

  When I went in to see Derek, he was all smiles and anticipation over the big scandal breakthrough I promised. First, though, I had a question or two for my boss. After all, the juicy goods I had were enough to dangle over his head, but I’d have to play my cards carefully. I wanted to know about his past with Hans.

  And, for the first time in my reporter career, guilt nagged at me too as I walked into our Sudbury office. Hans had given me full permission to print his secrets. He only asked I not write about the sergeant’s murder and remains. And I was torn over this. More torn than I had been in a long time. Hans was a killer. People would want him brought to justice. But what the sergeant did to him and Rebecca that afternoon … well, really, Hans was acting in self defense in my books. But that didn’t mean a judge would see it that way.

  Did I break this scandal open and send the police to Hans’ door, or did I keep it under wraps to protect my weekend lover? Doing so would stifle my chance for that prime job opportunity. Printing everything would ruin Hans’ life.