Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women Page 6

  “Tell me you want it,” he said in a voice that was misleadingly gentle and kind. “That’s all you have to do.” She struggled again. He didn’t want to lose her now.

  With slow, gentle thrusts, he began again. His hand resumed its gentle caressing.

  “Oh, no,” she whimpered.

  He smiled in spite of his agony. “Oh, yes,” he replied.

  Like a well-tuned musical instrument, her body responded in perfect time to his every touch. She was feverish in her struggle, and he was getting impatient. Why did she have to be so stubborn? He was going to make her a very happy wife. When his excitement began to overtake him and he came too close to the edge, he thought about losing her forever, and that was sufficient to cool his desire and hold his own needs at bay.

  “That’s it,” he coached lovingly as she once again came perilously near the brink. “Now tell me that you want me.” He pulled himself almost completely out of her again and paused.

  “No!” she screamed. But she was referring to his stopping, completely unaware now of what he wanted. “Please…oh, please. Don’t stop.”

  He didn’t want to mince words at a time like this, but he couldn’t have disputes over the matter later. “Tell me that you want me,” he repeated.

  “I…” she stopped herself. He pulled himself completely out of her.

  “I…” she repeated.

  He groaned loudly, thinking she had nearly as much endurance as he had. He pushed himself back into her and held perfectly still.

  “Tell me, sweetheart,” he pleaded.

  “I…want you,” she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  Cat wanted to comfort Mouse, but that would have to wait until later. They both had held out for way too long. He thrust himself into her again and again, thinking only to seal his victory with his final satisfaction, but suddenly he recalled the prize he had won and what it had cost her.

  Using the very last grain of self-control that he possessed, he slowed his thrusts and once again busied himself with pleasing her. He could not believe, after all that, he had almost forgotten her and gotten himself off without satisfying her. Happy wife indeed!

  Cat gathered his wits and held back, concentrating on giving Mouse what she needed. Soon she was again reaching the true object of her struggles. This time he brought her through to the very end, and then with a loud yell he poured himself into her with absolute relief.

  They clung to each other afterward, both trembling from the experience. After a while Cat lifted himself up from her embrace to examine her face.

  As Mouse regained her composure, a small blush crept over her features. But she struggled to maintain an indifferent demeanor as she boldly met Cat’s eyes and said, very nonchalantly, “I must say you caught me off guard that time….What do you say to a rematch?”

  Cinderella

  Once upon a time there came to be a fairy-tale princess who wasn’t living happily ever after. She was called Cinderella, and it happened that a number of years after marrying the prince she began to wonder if she hadn’t been happier before her meddling fairy godmother sent her to that ill-fated ball.

  For one thing, the once-beloved glass slippers had of late become dreadfully uncomfortable. Cinderella’s feet had suffered from the rigid confines of the glass, and she could scarcely endure the pain it caused her to venture from one room to the next, let alone to go outside the castle. Any desire to roam or explore was quickly squelched by the horror of the piercing pain she would have to endure to get there.

  The prince had also become a source of displeasure to Cinderella, who felt as confined in her husband’s castle as her poor feet felt in the glass slippers. Oh, at first it had been terribly exciting to think that he had chosen her from among all the women of his kingdom to be his wife! When he whisked her away to become his wife, she felt that she really must love him, if for no other reason than that.

  But the excitement all too quickly died, and then Cinderella was left with less pleasant sensations. The attentions that her husband bestowed upon her had seemed flattering in the beginning, but in retrospect they appeared to have very little to do with her. His desires and appetites were shocking in their frequency and strength, which ran hot until satisfied, only to dissolve too quickly into nothingness. She at once admired and resented his determination to have fulfillment of those desires. Her initial instinct and aspiration to satisfy her husband had eventually come to feel more like a task. And no sooner was the task complete than he would remove himself from her, both physically and emotionally. In the end she was left feeling isolated and even sometimes a little misused. Yet if these duties were not petitioned at all, she felt even worse, inadequate.

  Besides these problems that existed when Cinderella and the prince were together, there arose equally disconcerting ones when they were apart. Cinderella, in her tedium, could not help but wonder where her husband went and what he did when he was away from her. Left out and alone, with only the crippling glass slippers for companions, she felt quite forsaken. She began to envy the prince and the things he did, and even the people he did them with.

  It was all so disappointing. And Cinderella was as disappointed in herself as in everything else, for hadn’t she done everything in her power to win this position as the prince’s wife? Why had she and all those other young women been so actively competing for a man they hardly knew?

  Worst of all was the feeling of helplessness. Cinderella was completely bewildered about what she could do to improve her situation. She still cared for the prince, she supposed, but he was not making her happy.

  One day it all became too much for Cinderella to bear, and in a fit of anxiety she threw open the doors of the castle and rushed outside. The sun was shining encouragement and the birds were singing a carefree tune that made everything seem possible, so, taking heart, Cinderella began to run. But her discomfort quickly overcame all else and forced her to stop her running and sit down on a nearby log. She began to weep miserably.

  Suddenly there came all around Cinderella a soft, tinkling sound accompanied by little, sparkling lights. She looked up with a sense of recollection and, lo and behold, there before her was the fairy godmother of her childhood.

  “What ails you so, Cinderella?” asked the kind lady.

  “Oh, Fairy Godmother!” exclaimed she. “I am not living happily ever after!”

  Her fairy godmother was shocked. It was not customary for her to be called back by the tears of a godchild whom she had already enchanted with her powers. In fact, it had not happened to her before. She sat close to Cinderella and tenderly took both her hands up in hers, determined to find the cause of all this. Could it be that an evil witch had cast a spell on her goddaughter?

  “Tell me, dear, what it is that is making you so unhappy?”

  Cinderella thought for a moment. How could she explain it? It wasn’t precisely that anything was making her unhappy. It was more that nothing was making her happy. Then she remembered the glass slippers. Certainly they were one source of unhappiness that she could clearly identify.

  “The glass slippers that you gave me are making me very unhappy, Godmother,” she whimpered.

  Her fairy godmother drew in a sharp breath. “Why, my dear,” she cried defensively, “I was certain they were a perfect fit!” How dare the girl question her abilities?

  “Well yes, but they are so confining!” replied Cinderella.

  Her fairy godmother was stunned into silence by that. What could she say? Who presumed that a glass slipper, or a prince’s kingdom, or any other fairy-tale aspiration for that matter, would not be confining?

  “It’s as if I can’t be myself in those shoes,” continued Cinderella. “I can’t even remember who myself is.”

  “Ah,” said the wise fairy godmother. She could not comprehend the connection this complaint had to do with the lovely glass slippers, but as it happened she was very well acquainted with the ever-prevalent issue of self-identity. What fairy godmother wasn�
�t these days, what with frogs who believed they were princes and wolves impersonating grandmothers? And as luck would have it, the recommended cure came in the form of two lovely slippers, the uppers of which were made from the softest part of lambs’ ears, and bound together with the wispy tendons of bat wings, and all of this was soled with the rubbery tips of a thousand tiny leaping frogs’ fingers. In addition to heightening the wearer’s self-awareness and desires, the slippers were above all comfortable, so with a little good fortune they would cure Cinderella of everything that ailed her.

  “I do have the cure,” her godmother announced, “but I must give you this warning—self-discovery is a solitary activity, and the discoverer must have a care not to alienate those who matter most to them.”

  Cinderella nodded her head impatiently. Her fairy godmother’s warning was too ambiguous to concern her overmuch, especially since she was so discontented as to try anything new, regardless of consequences.

  So without further ado, her godmother waved her magic wand and lightly tapped Cinderella’s feet, each in turn. They both watched with fascination as the glass slippers magically dissolved away into nothingness. Almost immediately the glass was replaced with the softest imaginable material of the palest possible pink. The exotic material weaved itself elaborately around Cinderella’s feet, starting at the tips of her toes, continuing along the arch of her foot, and finally winding itself over her heel and around her ankle. Cinderella’s eyes widened in amazement as the remarkable slipper took shape in a most clever design around her foot. She arched her ankle and twisted it this way and that in admiration as she watched, never having seen anything so utterly exquisite before in her life.

  Now Cinderella’s feet had become all but deadened from the dreaded glass slippers, but very stealthily sensation was returning to them, as a tingling awareness of the magnificently soft material encroached upon all of her foot’s nerve endings. She wiggled her toes in approval, and the luscious feeling of her skin moving within the supple slippers sent shivers of delight all the way up her legs. She gasped and squealed with glee. Feeling as if she had the abilities and grace of a gazelle, she pushed herself up onto her toes and laughed merrily as she spread her arms wide for a pirouette. Her fairy godmother smiled as she watched Cinderella. Perhaps she would fashion herself a pair, too…

  Later that evening, when the prince returned to his castle, he called out for Cinderella again and again, only to find, again and again, that she was not there to answer him. He was extremely concerned by this, as it had virtually never happened before, and more to the point, there were dangers always present and lurking in their kingdom. There were ogres and witches and even worse in nearby forests, lying in wait for any opportunity to infiltrate their kingdom and cause their mischief. As he searched the castle with no sign of his wife, he grew more and more concerned. Could some mishap have befallen Cinderella?

  When he was certain that Cinderella was nowhere within the castle, the prince gallantly mounted his horse and rode out to find her. He circled the castle, and after that the kingdom, in increasingly larger segments, that he might cover every inch through to their borders. As he did this, he stopped at every sign of habitation to ask if anyone had seen Cinderella.

  The search continued for many hours until the prince reached a certain tavern from which lively music poured forth. Frustrated and exhausted from his utter lack of success thus far, he thought the tavern an unlikely lead indeed, but unwilling to leave a single stone unturned he wearily slid himself from his horse and went inside.

  The prince gasped in astonishment just as the tavern doors were closing behind him. There, directly opposite his gaping eyes, was Cinderella, laughing and dancing as if she had not a care in the world. Her expression was happier than he had seen it in several years, and his outrage was temporarily distinguished by memories of the last time she looked just that way, a long time ago, on the dance floor where they first met. It had been that look that had stolen his heart, blinding him to everything but finding her again and making her his wife.

  But too soon after they married, that look had disappeared from her face, and frowns and pouts had taken its place.

  Until now, that is.

  And much as the prince had longed to see that look on Cinderella’s face once again, this was certainly not the setting he had imagined seeing it in. Why was she here? Who was she with? How could she have come here without the slightest regard for his feelings, or even a simple note to advise him of where she would be, which at least would have saved him the efforts of the last agonizing hours he’d spent trying to find her? He was shocked and confused by her astonishing behavior. But his confusion was quickly giving way to anger as he edged through the crowd toward his wife.

  At last Cinderella noticed the prince, just as he was approaching, and her face froze for a mere second in stunned surprise before she rushed into his arms. She was breathless and smiling again as she kissed him and whispered happily, “There you are, my darling!”

  The prince was completely disarmed by this greeting.

  “I was just wishing you were here, and here you are!” she continued, winding one arm around his neck and placing the other inside his warm hand for a dance, which he found himself engaged in even before he willed it. She examined his face with a queer little smile on her lips. She seemed to be searching for something.

  With effort he shook himself out of her spell long enough to ask, “Where have you been?” This seemed rather dull-witted, though, since she had obviously been here in this strange tavern, so he added, “Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?”

  “Until just a few minutes ago I had forgotten all about you” was her forthright reply, spoken so guilelessly that it was impossible to detect offense.

  The prince was stunned yet again; becoming, in turns, confused, shocked, annoyed and angry.

  “I’m taking you home,” he announced, leading Cinderella out of the tavern and lifting her onto his horse. She went with him willingly enough, and without a word. As they rode toward the castle she wiggled closer to him repeatedly, and her arms tightened lovingly around his chest. She felt excited and alive to be riding thus with her husband at night, and it aroused her further to rub herself against the prince while straddling the horse. She felt as if every minute was hers to be enjoyed, lived and spent. She could not bear to let a single moment pass without experiencing some little joy.

  The prince was trying to stay aloof but it was nearly impossible for him to remain so while Cinderella was rubbing up against him in such an enticing fashion. He felt that she must be mocking him, but even so he found himself stopping the horse suddenly and pulling her down from it. And then he was once again on familiar ground, tearing at his wife’s skirts, knowing what he wanted and that she would willingly comply.

  All at once Cinderella jerked herself away from the prince and ran, half-naked, into the darkness. The prince could not see her clearly, but he could hear her fluttering about, laughing childishly.

  Cinderella spun around and around in the fields. She could not say why, but she was loath to be subdued and taken just yet.

  After a shocked moment the prince followed Cinderella, calling her name out sharply. This amused her all the more, and she laughed the harder as she weaved this way and that in the darkness. The air was cool on her flesh and it began to tingle.

  The prince had reached the limits of his endurance by now, and he called out for her once again in the same tone a fed-up parent uses with a naughty child. But Cinderella paid no heed to this, merely continuing her butterflylike weaving this way and that around the prince and his horse.

  The prince decided the only way to put a stop to Cinderella and her bizarre behavior was to catch her, which he promptly attempted to do, as he slowly and lithely made his way into the darkness, crouching down low and listening for her laughter and breathing and her light steps as she ran. His body, in anticipation, hardened and tensed. His heart slammed in his chest. He too felt suddenly ve
ry alive.

  As soon as she perceived that the prince was stalking her, Cinderella ceased her laughing at once. Her breath stopped in her throat. Where was the prince exactly? It was very dark and there were too many shadows to discern which was what. Childish fear played at her fancy but a strange titillation and anticipation was stealthily building up and overpowering the fear.

  A few yards to one side of her, Cinderella could make out the darker shadows of a forest. Thinking to hide in these woods, she warily took one step in the direction of the shadows. She stood very still for a moment and listened. Knowing that her husband was somewhere out there in the darkness, listening, waiting, preying on her, sent a sharp thrill right through her. She resisted the urge to bolt for the woods and very cautiously took another step. Again she listened but there was no sound. She lifted her foot to take yet another step toward the woods.

  But quicker than a wild beast, the prince had her, snatching her by the arm and pulling her to him, so that Cinderella came up against him quite abruptly. Before she even comprehended her situation enough to scream, he was crushing her lips with his. Her whole body shuddered against his, and feeling her tremble, he lifted his mouth from hers to search her face. In his eyes there was no more anger, only desire. Her eyes reflected that desire, so he kissed her again, but with much more gentleness this time.

  The prince moved slowly this time, first carefully laying out a place for Cinderella, then removing her clothes and finally, removing his own. He tentatively put his hands on her, at first simply touching her skin, and spreading out his fingers so she could become accustomed to his warm hands on her cool flesh. His hands roamed deliberately over her body, coddling and loving her first, then becoming more demanding as he rediscovered the places that brought him the most pleasure. He leaned over Cinderella and kissed the tips of her breasts as his hands moved over her belly and down between her legs. She arched her hips and moaned. But the prince’s hand suddenly became brusque and even offensive as he rubbed her brutally.