Jori - A Fairy Tale of Sorts Ch. 02

"Baise-moi, Jori," she asked him softly. "Fuck me, please..."

How would he refuse? How could he refuse? She was a goddess and she wanted him. Whatever she wanted, he would give. But it was more than her being a goddess. There was something about her that just drew him in... enticed him... yet engendered a very strong sense of loyalty and devotion... and affection. Like Renée. Like Renée, whom he loved.

Perhaps he was growing to truly love this woman? Not an infatuation, but maybe really love? Right now, though, she'd made a request and he was going to honor it.

He eased up off her pussy and crawled his way up over her luscious body, feeling her wrap her legs around him as he did. He nuzzled her ample breasts, almost like pillows now, licking and sucking her nipples and the base of her throat. Supporting himself on all fours, he hovered over her, leaning down to her eager lips, melting into her incredible kiss. And finally, he moved his hips to bring his straining, erect cock to her nether lips, pushing against her welcoming flesh, feeling himself get even more slippery from her essence.

She relaxed and lifted into him, making it easy for him to slide in, to be sheathed by her furnace of desire. He felt a peace descend on him. This was the right place to be. This was home.

He began rocking, slowly at first, enjoying the sweet torment of the buildup. She, in turn, pushed back, gradually with more immediacy, more need, and he responded in kind. He felt her climbing rapidly towards her climax and as before, she took him with her.

He held off as long as he could, feeling the orgasmic waves crash through her at least three times before he could no longer control himself.

"Baise-moi, Jori! Baise-moi fort!" she cried out as she felt him swell impossibly huge, more than filling her as he arched up, feeling his balls pull up tight.

"What the fuck does that mean?" he growled as every animal instinct in him reared in passion. The excruciating sweetness of his impending orgasm had every muscle in his body on fire.

"Fuck me!" she cried out to him. "Fuck me, Jori! FUCK ME HARD!!!"

As if he had a choice.

He began pounding into her, meeting her thrusts with the passionate desperation brought about by her effect on him. She wanted hard? She'd get hard... every thrust to the hilt, crushing her body to him, pounding her as a smith works his forge.

He built and built and built... and lost it when she cried out another massive orgasm, clamping down on him as if to shear him off. He felt his own cum start and gave up, and gave in. Even with his eyes closed, the twinkling lights burned like fire while he felt rope after rope blow out of him and deep into this goddess. And still she wanted more. She begged, coaxed, pled, demanded, forced him beyond any endurance he had ever known. He felt like he only stopped cumming when he was passing out. The exertion was too much and he collapsed on her.

She took his weight easily, buoying him up, surrounding him in soft, gentle, floating energy as he struggled to stay conscious... while mostly losing. He was again aware of the feeling of her, shifting as she held him to her, feeling her energy shift. He was afraid to open his eyes, but his curiosity forced him to...

The thirties woman was now the young twenties woman, the perfect woman... Hell, if he was honest with himself, they were all the perfect woman! This redheaded Celtic goddess, this Rhiannon, ruled him. They said that when you had them by the short hairs, their hearts and minds would follow. With her, the allurement may have been sexual at first, but now he felt as if she had his heart and mind without the sex. It could have been a moth to the flame for all he knew, but he was certain that something in this woman was pulling at him, drawing him in... owning him.

He collapsed down next to her, still holding her and she holding him as they fought to catch their breath and still their racing hearts. Ensconced in her arms, he felt peace and tranquility radiating from her, pervading every part of his body. Except his cock. That seemed to want to stay rigid.

Gently, she kissed him, murmuring "you are so wonderful a lover, Jori... I hope you believe you are as good to me as I know you are..."

"My Lady," he managed to pant, "if you are happy, then I am happy. I want nothing more than to give you whatever you want."

"It is important to me, Jori, that you do this of your own free will. That you are not trying to please me under duress," she smiled at him, and somehow, to his mind, the word "duress" just didn't have any meaning.

"I love you, my Lady," he told her.

There, I've said it, he thought. Probably sounds stupid and lame. Pathetic. Like how a simple peasant like me could ever have feelings worthy of her. At least she isn't laughing.

And indeed she wasn't. She was lying in his arms with a soft, gentle, wistful expression, her blue-grey diamond eyes lit from within with an affection he could feel enveloping him.

"In that case," she told him softly, "I have a favor to ask."

"Anything, my Lady," he told her, and he meant it.

She eased herself out of his arms enough to be able to roll over and snuggle back in against him, spooning.

"Baise-moi dans mon cul, Jori," she told him.

Okay, 'baise-moi' means 'fuck me', he thought. I've got that figured out. And 'mon' is probably 'my'. So what the hell is a 'cul'...? Suddenly, he understood. And a thrill ran through him like a lightning bolt. The forbidden. The absolute taboo. The dirty little secret Renée and Monique and Rachael made him swear to keep and never tell anyone.

His heart pounding in his ears, he eased in behind her and as he did, she lifted her upper leg slightly, making it easier for him to slide between her thighs and wet himself with her copious juices. That and his renewed pre-cum made him very slippery... just the right kind of slippery to press upon her backdoor. Her pouting rosebud pushed back against him, yet slowly yielded as he entered her as gently as he could.

Her loud sigh as his glans popped in gave him another thrill, to his core. He kept easing himself forward until his entire length and girth were sheathed with her hot, tantalizing derrière and she moaned her pleasure as his balls reached her nether lips.

"Qui es si bon, Jori... prends-moi, je suis à toi," she murmured, rocking back into him.

He loved this. He wasn't supposed to, of course. The priests and magistrates had made it clear growing up that sodomy was a sin and unlawful. But that didn't seem to stop men and women from participating. Willingly, it was an exciting, forbidden thrill. Unwillingly, it was called rape.

And now, she was willing. She was encouraging him. And he was hoping against hope he could remember what the girls had liked so he could please this wonderful woman.

He started slowly, withdrawing most of the way, then sliding in to his full length. With each stroke, she sighed and pushed back into him. He could feel the pleasure ripple through them both. He took her cue when she began to push back harder and more frequently. He picked up his pace to match hers and was overjoyed at her enthusiastic response.

Again, her magic worked on him and he found himself building to yet another climax, as impossible as that seemed. As he drove away at her, pounding her with pleasure, she raised her leg up over his, spreading herself so she could play with her pussy, massaging her clit and fingering herself. And all the while, they both raced up the steep slope to a massive, mutual climax.

"Dammit!" he muttered as he felt his surge building to the inevitable. "Can't stop!"

"Cum for me, my Jori," she moaned, pushing back hard. "Fill me! Let me feel your hot seed!"

That was all the encouragement he needed. With a howl that began in his balls and rose through his belly and breast to burst out into the night, he exploded within her, pulsing over and over as he filled her with his hot semen. And that took her over the edge.

With a similar animalistic cry into the night, she came on him, furiously rubbing and spearing herself, saying over and over "Oui, Jori, oui! Je jouis! Je jouis! Plus! Donne m'en plus!"

He nearly blacked out again, the explosion of her energy and her heat searing his brain, making him faint. Every time he thought he couldn't possibly cum any harder, she proved him wrong. He kept pulsing. He could believe it and he couldn't help it. It was as if she had taken control of his body and was milking him, drawing spurt after spurt deep within her. And he loved it. He wanted it. He wanted her to take him over, to make him hers, to rule him forever...

He felt her shifting again. He knew it. He knew she was growing younger still. The girl, the teen in the red mane and alabaster skin. The brilliant blue-grey eyes. The soft, small curve of her breasts and hips. The incredible feel of her skin. He struggled to open his eyes and look at her, held before him, his shaft buried in her ass.

She was as he imagined -- the young woman, the perfection of youth and sensuality, the awesome perfection he so desired. Once more, she turned to look up at him and smile.

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

The black velvet of unconsciousness descended on him and he knew no more.

* * * * *

The sound of birds and the warmth of the sun on his back brought him back to consciousness. He felt her, curled up in front of him where they'd fallen asleep last night. Neither had moved an inch.

He opened his eyes and found what he expected. He was holding the old crone in his arms once again... and she felt wonderful, as she lay peacefully asleep in his arms.

[to be continued...]