I gasped. I could feel his knees, pushing between my legs, forcing my thighs apart. I could hear his soft breaths growing ragged and harsh with desire. He lowered himself over me, his body lying flush over mine. I whimpered, feeling his warm soft-skinned erection pressed against my lips. He circled his hips, and his shaft sunk through the lips of my sex, pressing down on my clit. His mouth closed on my collarbone, and I quivered.
But while he kissed my chest, exploring the contours of my breasts, I slyly wrapped a hand around and felt his back. I slid over the peak of his shoulderblade. He caught my wrist swiftly, hissing his displeasure, but I had already felt…something. Something, spreading soft, arching up between his shoulderblades. It was only a brief touch, but it made me that much more curious to see him for what he was.
He rolled off of me, the mattress creaking as he left the bed. I heard the rustling of his motions. After a few moments the bed groaned again as he straddled me. His thighs clamped tight around my legs, keeping me down, and the soft parts hanging between his legs brushed my thighs. I quivered. He caught up my wrists in one hand. He wound a silken strip around them, tightly. I tugged, but my wrists were fastened securely. He lifted my wrists until they were stretched above my head, and rose up on his knees.
I felt a light pull on my wrists as he forced them closer to the headboard. The silken rope went taut against the hard slab of the headboard, fastening my hands in place. As he knelt over me, leaning forward, his erection bobbed near my face, brushing my cheek. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine the shape of it. It was hard and long as a club, the head bulbous and smooth. But as it touched my cheek, the skin of it was so warm and velvety that I felt a sudden urge to turn my head and kiss it.
Then he was done tying my hands fast, and he crawled back down until his legs were nestled between my own. He stroked my hair.
“Psyche,” he whispered, “you must trust me.”
I could tell, by the gusts of breath that hit my skin, that his lips were hovering over my face, moving here and there as if he was trying to decide where to kiss me.
I opened my lips, sure that his own mouth was just in front of me. “Why should I?”
“You will see me, in time,” he said. “Patience.”
And then he kissed me, sucking at my lips, drawing out my last shreds of resistance. I sighed into his mouth. His hands were on me everywhere, fondling gently and squeezing roughly. His palm folded around my neck, his thumb stroking beneath my ear. His hand caught my thigh and pulled it up, spreading my legs. He reached beneath me to grip my ass, kneading until I whimpered and arched into him.
I was lost again. I wriggled, just to feel his skin sliding against mine. I thrust my hips up, circling until his shaft ground against my clit.
“Psyche,” he murmured, nibbling at my ear, “what do you want to do now? Tell me.”
I swallowed, remembering the silken feel of his cock against my cheek.
“I want to kiss…” I ventured, nervously. I stopped, my face growing red.
“Kiss? As we have been?”
I bit my lip, falling silent.
“Or perhaps you want to kiss me elsewhere.”
I swore I could hear a smile in his voice.
“Perhaps you want to kiss my hand? Or my chest. My feet?” He thrust his hips against me, his voice lowering to a hungry rasp. “Or would you like to kiss my cock, Psyche? Is that it?”
I sucked in a sharp breath. He chuckled knowingly and rose. I felt him crawling over me, and then the soft spongy head of his cock touched my lips. I slipped my tongue between my parted lips, wetting them. I nudged his cock to the side and rubbed it, tentatively, with my nose. I planted my lips on the shaft and slipped my tongue through, a wet kiss. He grunted.
I swallowed, heady with a sudden rush of lust. I slid my lips up the side of his cock, measuring the length of it, feeling out its shape with my mouth. My kisses grew more passionate, my tongue swiping out between my lips to taste him. His shaft was soon slick from my kisses.
He grunted, pushing his hips forward. I explored further, sliding my nose down his shaft until I found the tangle of coarse hairs at his groin. I felt the soft shape of his balls. I nuzzled his thigh.
He guided his cock to my lips again, pushing the head against my mouth. I kissed it again, licking lightly and tracing the shape of the head. He groaned.
“Suck it, Psyche,” he urged, pushing it into my mouth. I opened my lips to receive it, taking a breath before my mouth was filled by his girth. He pushed slowly, meeting resistance at the back of my throat. I clamped my lips tight, licking thirstily at his shaft.
“Yes,” he groaned.
But he pulled away, drawing his cock out of my mouth. The bed buckled as he moved over me. Then he pushed his cock against my lips again. But this time it was thrusting down at a different angle, and his lips touched my thigh. I sucked his cock back into my mouth, tipping my head back to swallow him further. He thrust, gently, prodding at the back of my throat.
All the while his own mouth was exploring between my legs. He kissed my thighs, pulling them apart. Then he kissed the lips of my sex. His tongue flicked out and touched my clit. I groaned, the sound humming around his cock. I forgot how to use my tongue, and merely sucked hard at his member. I squirmed my hips under the onslaught of his tongue.
His thrusts grew faster, more desperate, and I almost choked on the plunge of his cock into my mouth. I could feel his growing tension in the grip of his hand, squeezing my thigh. His tongue pressed relentlessly against my clit, circling again and again until I arched and moaned. I clamped my mouth around his cock as I came, sucking hard on his thrusting organ. He stiffened, and shuddered, and I felt the gush of his seed over my tongue. I sucked and swallowed as he spasmed in my mouth.
He withdrew and pulled me into his arms again. He reached up, loosening my wrists from the headboard. But they stayed tied, stuck behind me. He rested his chin on my scalp.
My eyelids fluttered. The heavy darkness seemed a comfort now, blanketing me, dragging me down into sleep.
“Tomorrow night,” he murmured, “you’ll meet me here, won’t you, Psyche?”
“Yes,” I sighed.
“Good girl,” he said.
****
I waited for him in the bedroom that night. The door swung shut, plunging the room into darkness. He pounced on me, throwing me onto the bed, taking me roughly. He tied me again, but this time he forced me into a different position, bending me over the bed with my feet on the floor. He plowed me from behind, reaching between my thighs to finger my clit until I came hard, bucking against him.
And the night after that, and the night after that, I met him and yielded with pleasure to his attentions. And finally he left me untied, and slept with his arms draped only loosely around me. When he was asleep I slipped out of bed and tried the door, relieved to find it unlocked.
I opened the door, but it was dark in the corridor now, and it didn’t cast enough light on the bed to reveal him. So I crept out and came back with a candle. I cupped a hand around the dancing flame, slipping into the room and approaching the bed.
I almost dropped the candle when I saw him.
He wasn’t a demon. He was a god. Statuesque and impossibly alluring, even with his face lax and unconscious. Honeyed curls slipped over his forehead. His jawline was straight, masculine. His body was well-muscled and proportioned with athletic grace. He was tangled up in the covers, the sheets twining between his legs and half-covering his swelling chest.
He looked human, except for the wings that arched out from his back. I cocked my head, gazing at the strange appendages, trying to puzzle out what it meant. But leaning up against the bedpost was his quiver – the arrows peaked with needle points.
It was obvious, but even so I could scarcely believe it. Cupid. I cringed, ashamed of my poor treatment. I’d thought of him as some demon, all this time. And he knew it.
I glanced over at the arrows again. He hadn’t poisoned me with his arrows.
I wanted him, anyway. But wouldn’t it be even better, with the love poison? Wouldn’t it prove my loyalty, if I were to…
I reached for an arrow, and nicked my finger. And then I filled my eyes with the sight of him again. I stepped forward, tugging back the blankets, baring his naked form. The sight was no longer merely beautiful or alluring. It was impossible to resist. I licked my lips, glancing from his chest down to the thick column of his cock, dark with blood. And as I leaned over him, I tipped the candle.
A drop of wax plummeted, hitting his chest. His eyes snapped open.
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The Fae Slave (Part I: Cold Iron)
An Erotic Fantasy Short Story
Warning: this is a fantasy erotic short story, containing dubious consent, a fairy slave and her human master, dominance, submission, bondage, and exhibition, and is for adult readers only.
There’s only one thing Gregor Carnell wants for his tribute from the defeated faeries: Luel, the proud faerie assassin, the deadly beauty. Luel is horrified to find herself chained and presented, a helpless slave. But she still has her pride, enough to keep her from giving in to her desires and to Gregor’s domination...for now, at least.
An Excerpt from The Fae Slave:
Humans, mundane humans, with not a whit of magic in their bones. I couldn’t understand how they had beat us. The war had been going well enough for me, at least: I never failed to slay my targets. Never failed to charm them, dazzle them into stripping down to the skin. With the armor gone they were naked and vulnerable. Cold iron plates rolling on the ground, and the enemy standing there naked, awaiting my favors. I lost count of how many fell to my assassin’s blade.
Now, I was wishing intently that he had been one of my victims. Gregor Carnell. Standing there with his legs apart, smiling smugly at the cowed Fae as he read out the treaty. He was a tall man, muscular, reeking of confidence. But still just a mundane human, a rat like the rest of them.
But the problem with having magic woven through your sinews, bubbling in your blood, is that oaths are forever. Unbreakable. Like cold iron. Now words, words can be twisted and turned until they mean the opposite of what you intended. Promises made of the right words can be slippery things. But they had it all inked out on a roll of parchment, and they’d gone over it with their scholars and scribes and linguists, parsing out every double meaning and ambiguity until there was no way out of those words.
Gregor’s voice echoed through the cold stone room. There were more humans, crowded like rats on all sides, listening to the declaration of our defeat. When he reached the part about exacting the tribute, he paused, and stared at me.
“Luel.” The sound of my name rung in my ears.
My allies on either side gripped my arms and brought me forward. I didn’t put up much resistance, with the cold iron shackles chilling me, draining me. I didn’t blame them -- it wasn’t as if they’d chosen me. I was bound to the words of the treaty the same as the rest of them. But still I was angry, resentful that I had to be the sole slave of the filthy human ruler. I wasn’t the one who’d failed the Fae. I’d done well enough against the humans on my own.
And maybe that was why Gregor had chosen me.
“A tribute, as a symbol. A symbol of the subjugation of Fae.”
My allies pushed me forward into the hands of the humans. His lackeys caught me and forced me to my knees. I went down, weakly. He slid the toe of his boot beneath my chin, pushing up so that I was forced to look at him. The leather pressed against my throat, so warm compared to the clasp of cold iron.
“Luel. You are bound to me now. ”
I was in no position to reply, my jaw stiff against his boot, his toe pressing into my vulnerable throat. I thought of all the throats I’d destroyed. I still had that, at least, the memory of my own victories. No shame could erase that.
He removed his foot, and my head tipped back down, facing his knees. But he wasn’t done kicking me around like a cur. I felt his sole pressing down on my scalp. My head met the ground, and he kept me there, pinned. I pushed back, but I was weak. Weak and powerless, with the cold iron sapping me. I tried not to think of how it would feel, when he took me this way. I was used to being in control; but to be spread and penetrated in this state…but he would have to take the chains off eventually. If he wanted me for a whore, then he’d never get to taste my full faerie essence with the chains binding me.
But he didn’t take me to his bedchamber. The Fae retreated from the chill city of iron and stone, the humans filtered out, the guards withdrew and stood at their posts.
He looked down at me, his white teeth bared in a grin.
“I like the way you kneel.” He said.
At that I straightened, looking up at him with sullen eyes.
“Would you like to kiss my boot, little pet?”
I might be his to keep, but there was nothing in the treaty about groveling. Instead I spat on his boot. He knelt, ignoring the splatter of my spit on his shoe, and caught my chin in his hand. His eyes were a piercing green, green as sorcery.
“Disobedience will be punished.” He said. “But I’m glad you gave me the chance to demonstrate.”
And he picked me up by the arm, dragging me through the arches, into the harsh light. He tossed me down in the dirt. I pressed my face to the ground. It wasn’t the good clean loam of the forest, but it was heavenly compared to the bitter bite of metal.
He gazed down at me.
“Poor Luel.” He said, mockingly. “So proud. You’ll take your punishment hard.” He laughed. “Not to worry, though. I’ll have you eager to please before long.”
He lifted me up against the stake that was set in the square.
“Faeries. Magical, eerie things.” He jerked my hands up and fixed my chained wrists to the head of the post. “People fear your kind, for they don’t know them.”
He pressed up against me, suddenly. His face loomed; I swallowed, staring at his strong jaw, his straight nose – anything but those glinting green eyes.
“But they’ll know you all too well when I’m done with you.”
His hands were gloved in leather. I felt the smooth rubbery touch against the dip of my waist. I shivered, reflexively.
“They’ll know you intimately.”
He fingered the airy cloth of my tunic. He tugged at it, gently, to let me know I wasn’t going to keep it for long.
Continue Reading The Fae Slave (Part I: Cold Iron).
About Gwendolyn Wilde
The cursor throbs. I gnaw my lip. Thighs warmed by my laptop, I caress the keys, chasing those indecent thoughts across the page. Though I start shy, soon it's hard to stop: ideas swell, grow, come alive and urge me to release them through my tingling fingertips. Scenes of skin and lips and gasping, hot-blooded passion suck me in until I forget I'm just sitting here, writing.
And I hope my stories of sex, tension, and romance will come alive for you as well. If you enjoy tales of dominance and defiance, kidnapped maidens and mysterious rituals, hypnosis and sleepwalking, chains and cages...then read on.
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License Notes
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the author.
Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events, is purely coincidental.
Mature Content
This work contains explicit sexual content, graphic language and scenes that may be considered offensive by some readers.
Cover art by Gwendolyn Wilde.
Cover image licensed through Fotolia, LLC.
First Edition January 2014
dolyn Wilde, Stranger in the Dark: An Erotic Retelling of Cupid and Psyche
Stranger in the Dark: An Erotic Retelling of Cupid and Psyche Page 2
