Jori - A Fairy Tale of Sorts Ch. 01

Amazed because she was being so explicit in her gesture. Terrified because he remembered all the stories of the Harpies and Night-hags and Daemons said to prey on the mortals stupid enough to become lost in these woods. Fascinated because though she was old, shriveled and wrinkled, she still felt like a woman. He could not help but watch as she crawled, naked, between his thighs and lowered her mouth to his straining manhood.

A Succubus! Oh, God, she's a Succubus! he railed to himself. I am caught and will never see... Oh, my GOD!!

He erupted. He could not help himself. He did not want to. He convulsed again and again as he spent himself into her warm, welcoming, demanding mouth, rope after rope being eagerly swallowed by this ancient creature forcing him to feel pleasure well beyond any he had ever known.

She continued to suck him, far exceeding his ability to stand it. He writhed and moaned and tried to move, but all his strength was being held by her, by her mouth, by the incredible sensations which continued to pound him, to overwhelm and drown him. He felt on the edge of passing out and tried desperately to resist it. He tried to reach her with his arms but they were too weak with injury to move. He tried to sit up, to see her, maybe to beg her to stop, but all he could see was a blur of her flesh with vague details briefly revealed

Her twisted and unkempt hair flowed over his thighs, brushing them. Her mouth, which seemed toothless and only defined by thin lips, was warm and wet and firm over his cock, not letting him go flaccid. Her shriveled tits were just little sacks hanging down but with huge, pointy nipples, strangely attractive. The skin on her hands and arms was flabby and wrinkly, and yet it felt so good as it brushed across him.

Something inside him suggested that cooperating might save his life... not give this daemon a reason to drain his energy completely. Though it felt like grasping at straws, he acceded. He lay back, intending to let her have her way with him. After all, she had saved him from the storm, fed him and tended his wounds. Although she may have been fattening him for the slaughter, if he didn't give in to the terror, she actually felt pretty good...

Without the panic, he felt himself responding again.

Of course, he thought in bemused detachment. She's a Succubus. She's supposed to make men perform far beyond their usual, pitiful lack of staying power. He was back up and fully functional in very little time, and the daemon appeared to be taking great pleasure in his reactions, both in becoming turgid again and in the sounds he made.

She stopped sucking him as she moved and that got his attention. He tried to rise up on an elbow to see what she was doing but his arm hurt too much to hold it for more than a couple of seconds. In those couple of seconds, he saw her crawling up on him, straddling him, with her eyes now a brilliant blue, like gemstones with their own internal fire.

She paused, poised over him, the fire backlighting her and accentuating her sagging old body, the wrinkles catching the light and shadows and drawing mesmerizing patterns across her side and belly. A belly that was mostly paunch with loose skin falling over it in folds. All the way to her bare pussy. She had no hair there, just big, puffy vulva beckoning his spear to impale her.

"May I?" she asked and stunned him. She was asking permission?

"Wh-what?" he stammered, not sure what she was asking.

"You said you would repay me," she told him. "Anything I wanted, if I asked. I am asking."

"Um... sure?" he answered, trying to focus on her face and failing. "I don't want to hurt you, you know... I'm mean, if you're not, um... or if I'm, um..."

"You will not hurt me," she told him in a kindly tone. "You may even help heal us both."

Now he was truly confused, but trying to think was becoming impossible, beyond the fact that his cock wanted to be buried in the old woman, for some incomprehensible reason. And, his brain felt fuzzy.

"Alright..." he nodded. "Whatever you want."

"I am so happy to hear you say that," she almost purred, then sat down on him, sheathing him and impaling herself to her depth.

He was astounded. She was hot and wet and pulsing and making him feel like he wanted to explode.

As she leaned forward and slowly rose and fell, stroking him his entire length, her pointy little tits were right before his eyes and he felt drawn to them, fascinated by them. The skin sagging off her chest and sides, the wrinkly arms and belly, seemed so weird to feel so good with someone so... old.

She began to moan softly, quickening her pace ever so slightly, pushing down hard on him – and exciting him more than he could understand. He watched as she used him for her own pleasure and could not help but be intrigued. She was not acting like some old biddy... her moans and the grinding of her hips was more like a much younger woman, used to sex and enjoying it. He was surprised when she rapidly built up speed, moaning louder and louder until she trembled all over, crying "Je jouis! Je jouis! Oh, Déesse, je jouis!" It didn't take much brains to figure out what she was saying.

What did require keeping his wits about him was watching her skin and hair ripple as if blown by strong wind and some of the wrinkles and flabby, sagging skin disappear, to be replaced by younger versions, a woman in her mid-fifties, perhaps, her breasts and hips and ass fuller, softer.

He wrote it off to the drugs in the wine. He was imagining things. He decided he didn't care. She had asked him for the fucking and he had promised, and she felt so very, very good. As long as she was getting what she wanted and not killing him by sucking out his life energy, he didn't care if he was hallucinating.

Unless this is a fantasy to hide the fact that she is draining the life out of me, he panicked.

I am not taking your energy, her voice came to his head. We are sharing and you should relax and enjoy it. You are young and capable of so much more...

He lay back even more confused as she continued to ride him, brushing her breasts across his chest and dragging her now full and flowing hair across his face and arms and abdomen. He felt himself responding, climbing towards another peak, completely mesmerized by this much younger woman.

She, in turn, began moaning again as she had before, gradually increasing her rhythm as she rose and fell on him, cresting with a rapid pounding and cries again of "Oh, Déesse, je jouis!" Except this time, she was taking him with her.

"I don't believe it..." he moaned as he felt himself swelling to bursting. "Oh, God! Mistress! You're going to... you're... Oh, God! Cumming!!" He felt the waves of orgasmic pleasure rip through him just as he felt this woman's cunt squeezing him as if milking a cow's teat. He felt the hot flush of his seed as he filled her, and yet she kept coaxing more from him. He felt as if the orgasm would never subside... just keep rolling over and over like the surf pounding the shore.

He felt a strange tickling run through him, from his toes to his ears, and when he tried to look at the woman still riding him in wild abandon, he was shocked once more. Again, her skin was melting and shifting and becoming younger. Her breasts bloomed, her waist pulled in, her thighs and ass tightened, and her hair... her hair became a brilliant mane of crimson fire swirling about the both of them, bringing exquisite ecstasy wherever it touched him. She looked younger still.

A beautiful woman, a fertility goddess perhaps, the perfect female figure, a woman in her thirties maybe, and compelling. The red mane, the blue-grey diamond eyes, the smooth, toned, healthy skin and her scent... her musk... exciting... awe-inspiring. Compelling.

I don't know what kind of magic this is, he thought as he found himself once more recovering from his orgasm far faster than he had ever before in his life – even in puberty – but if this is how I'm going to die... warm, fed and fucked beyond imagination, I guess it could be a lot worse.

She laughed.

A wonderful sound, at once warm and comforting, soothing as the sound of the stream over the rocks, familiar as the soft breeze in the trees. A laugh that pulled hard at his heart, filling it with desire. Desire to be joined to this woman forever. Of course she had heard him, in his mind.

"You are not going to die, my sweet young lover, Jori," she said and he was instantly enraptured by the sound of her voice. The voice hinted at by the old crone's. The voice that belonged to this goddess astride him. "Are you not enjoying paying me back for the kindnesses I showed you?"

She ground her hips into him and moved in a circle, forcing his engorging manhood back deep within her and he moaned as he tried to answer.

"Mistress... oh, God, that's good!... Mistress, 'enjoy' doesn't seem adequate for what I'm feeling," he told her as she kept him ramping up, yet again. "I have never felt this wonderful in my life."

"You have had many lovers, then?" she asked, her smiling eyes drawing him in, owning him.

He blushed. He hoped that in the firelight, she would not notice. "A few," he answered softly.

"A few?" she iterated gently. "How many is a few, Jori?"

"For intercourse, two," he told her, his blush deepening. "No, three... no, two," he finally stated without further correction.

"Two? Or three?" she asked, again in those soft, compelling tones that made him want to spill his entire life out to her, to lay himself bare in her presence and beg acceptance.

"Two," he decided. "My sister should not count."

"Your sister?" Again, the soft voice, the warmth, the desire...

"We only lost our virginity to each other," he admitted. "Nothing more. We experimented. Children will, growing up. But we only had intercourse once. We were young, and lustful, and the only ones who truly cared about each other."

"I see," she nodded sagely. "You loved each other. Love is a very good reason for a lot of things." She began the stroking of his shaft with her sex as she had done earlier and his body was ready, willing and able to cooperate. "I want another orgasm, my lover, my Jori. You are so very good at filling me up..."

She became quiet then, paying attention to fucking him and brushing his skin with her breasts and hair, fondling him with her hands as she used him for her own pleasure. It was not one-sided. Everything she did came back to him in waves of bliss and he was drawn once more into the rapture he had never known existed.

It was not long before her breathing became labored in that now familiar way, her sighs and gasps escaping, her excitement mounting. He stayed with her, even trying to return the attention, but something interfered with his moving. He guessed it was the sedative and he began to become frustrated at being in a drugged state when he wanted so much to show her he could be a good lover. Not some inexperienced youth with no idea how to pleasure a woman.

He could feel her approaching her climax. He wanted to watch, to see her face when she came, to know she was getting pleasure from him. It took an effort, but he managed to keep his eyes open.

"Oh, my Jori, my Jori, my Jori..." she moaned as she quickened her pace. "Oh, Déesse! Oh, Déesse, je jouis! Je jouis! Je jouis!" she fell back into that strange language he loved. "Baise moi, Jori! Baise moi fort!"

He wasn't sure what that meant, but if actions meant anything, she wanted him to push deeper into her, to fuck her harder. So he did, as best he could through the drugs.

"Oui! Oui! Oh, Déesse, OUI!!..." She collapsed on top of him, her cunt squeezing him hard, in pounding waves, as she spent herself on his manhood. And again, she began to change.

He watched this time, forced himself to pay attention as the woman he held to his breast grew younger. Her back straightened just a little. Her ass tightened up. Her muscles grew more defined. Her skin grew paler while her mane grew orange and yellow highlights and gained in length, moving as tendrils on their own, enveloping him, stroking him, tantalizing him.

A young woman, a woman perhaps in her twenties, was now astride him, driving him crazy. She was beyond beautiful. Beyond gorgeous. Whatever the superlative was for perfect. He was sure now that he'd been captured by a forest daemon, to be her toy until she tired of him. And right now, he didn't care. His sister was safe, the rest of his family and his life taken by the Compte, and all he felt was complete bliss. And a strong desire to return her favor, but he was helpless and under her control.

All he could do was acquiesce.

She sighed and shuddered slightly as she lay on him in the aftermath of her climax, softly stroking his skin, tracing strange patterns on his shoulders and arms, her face turned against his chest where he could feel her breathing, though hidden by her fiery mane. Exhausted, sated, he would have thought, and yet she continued to sheath him, to rock on him, to keep him erect as her breathing slowed towards normal.

"I know you are confused," she told him softly, surprising him as she broke the quiet. "I am very glad you are willing to help me. You may think you are bound by magic, but you are not. Nothing beyond the healing medicine and your body's weakness from injury. You are wise not to fight your need to heal and to let me take my pleasure from you while you rest."

"I think, though," and he thought he could hear the impish smile in her voice, "that you are quite capable of enjoying yourself as well... at least one more time." Now she began to rock on him in earnest and he felt himself swelling even more. Something he would have sworn was impossible.

Just as before, he felt himself rising towards another peak, his passions spreading through him, though his body was helpless to respond. Except, of course, for his manhood which was thoroughly encased by this creature's hot, wet, pulsing nethers and which in turn was responding within her, pushing back against her thrusts with his own.

The more she ground into him, brushed his chest with her hair and breasts, held his face with her hands and kissed him, the more he wanted to explode in her, to fill her with his cum, make her... pregnant.

The thought came out of nowhere and riveted him. Pregnant. Why did he feel a need to impregnate a woman who hours before had been a shriveled old crone?

He decided it was just the sex driving his thoughts. This young, beautiful woman was far beyond any lover he had ever dreamed of having. Maybe this was her purpose? To make men want to breed? If so, he hadn't really needed any encouragement. And why hide as an old woman?

She changed her rhythm, her rapid, driving strokes suddenly becoming long and languorous, the change demanding his attention. With the change of pace came a subtle, insistent sensation. He felt himself swelling as if he were going to burst. She coaxed his as she rode him. Coaxed him to a level of passion he had never known and could not imagine. His frustration grew until it consumed him.

From a will born of desperation, he found the strength to overcome his wounds, and the medication. He had to take her, be master of this creature, be the god to her goddess, not her slave, her pet.

With a cry more bestial than the forest could know, he cast aside the fetters of his weakness, his injury, and reached up to take her by the waist, lifting and twisting until he was above her, still coupled. Her smile, her eyes, blinded him as she threw her legs over him and pulled him down to her with an inhuman strength, yet he was not intimidated – only encouraged. Encouraged to drive repeatedly into her, to plumb her depths with his passion, his body straining and aching for release.

Release into her. Release into her soul. To make her his, to take her as mate, to claim her forever.

Furiously, he drove into her, trying to meet his need, satisfy hers. She spurred him on with her heels, her breath growing ragged and panting before the sweet sounds of her imminent climax took over.

"Oh, Jori, my Jori!" she moaned as he felt her crushing him to her. "Baise moi, Jori! Baise moi fort!"

He felt his own cum building, her strange words taking him to his peak.

"Oh, Déesse! Oh, Déesse!" she cried out suddenly, clamping down on him. "Baise moi, Jori! Je jouis! Je jouis!"

He felt his own release start somewhere low in his gut and burst up through his lungs and throat, his bellow echoing into the thunder of the night as he came deep, deep within her. He felt pulse after pulse of his hot cum fill the woman in his arms, felt her pulsing back. And felt something else... felt her changing yet again.

He forced his eyes open though the darkness was threatening to envelop him. He saw the impossible. He saw the woman in his arms shift once more, young, like his sister, and impossibly beautiful. She pulled him to her breast as the last of his spasms wracked his body and he collapsed, the black velvet of the mind taking him as he lost consciousness. The last he remembered was a pure, sweet, beatific, impossibly lovely voice... hers.

"Je t'aime, Jori... dormez bien."

* * * * *

He was not out long. Or so he thought. He came awake still holding her but only partially beneath him. He had fallen to her side and they were still coupled in each other's arms, she awake and playing with his hair and stroking his face, wearing a smile to make the angels envious.

Her long, blazing mane flowed over his body and everywhere it touched him, he felt pleasure. He looked at his skin – what he could see of it – and saw that most of the cuts were now faint lines of white scarring, almost faded. She kissed him lightly when she saw him open his eyes and started playing her hand down his chest and sides to their groins where they were still coupled.

Gently, she began to ease him out, and he almost fainted back into unconsciousness – because he kept coming out and coming out... even when he tried to help her, he had to move significantly to withdraw his cock from her. He was still mostly erect, and when the two of them had him fully extracted and lying against her alabaster belly between them, he appeared to be easily twice as large as he had been before they started, and had a mottled coloring, more reminiscent of a wolf than a man.

"I see you have some stubborn in you, my Jori," she chided him as she snuggled back up against him. "I told you to sleep well..."

That was the last he knew until he became aware of the sound of birds and the soft rumble of distant thunder. And the feel of someone in front of him, spooning against him, facing away. All the memories of the last night's fantasy lover came rushing back and again he felt anxious and confused. Perhaps it had all been a dream and he was still hiding beneath the briar patch, or if the crone had been real, perhaps he had dreamed it and was recovering in her hut.

It certainly felt as if he were in a bed, so he risked opening his eyes and saw that what he felt curled up to him, her back, butt and legs pushed against him, was indeed the woman.

But now, he was holding the body of the old crone, peacefully asleep in his arms.

[to be continued...]