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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Archive name: lake.txt (MF, F, solo, fantasy)
Authors name: Pulpfan (pulpfan26@hotmail.com)
Story title : Lake of Dreams
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This story is copyright 2000 by Pulp Fan. Permission is
given to repost it, or to put it on free websites, but
please don't alter the text or post it on websites which
charge fees for access.
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Lake of Dreams (MF, F, solo, fantasy)
by Pulpfan (pulpfan26@hotmail.com)
* * * *
This story contains explicit matter of a sexual nature
and if you are under legal age in your jurisdiction, stop
reading this and go off and read something else! I always
love to hear from folks about my stories; you can contact
me at either pulpfan26@hotmail.com.
* * * *
This story is part one of a much longer erotic fairy tale
I've started to write, to be called "The Realm Betwixt",
but it stands on its own. At this time, I'm not sure the
longer piece will ever be written, but who knows?
This story contains: MF, F solo, fantasy.
* * * *
Gwendolyn's life changed forever the day she drowned.
It was, of course, true that her life had been changing
gradually in many ways for some time, as is the natural
order of things. From a carefree little girl--who loved
nothing more than to sit perched on the knee of her
white-haired grandfather, listening with wide-eyed wonder
to the fantastic tales the old man told, fables of
secretive elves and towering dragons and mischievous
fairies, of fair princes and dazzling princesses and
heroes brave and strong--the last few years had seen her
tall, lanky form fill out, flowering and maturing as she
blossomed into young womanhood.
No more did the young boys taunt her cruelly as she
walked along the muddy streets carrying out her chores,
teasing her in the misguided, malicious way that children
oft do. Now young men came to pay court to her, to praise
her many charms, to describe with clumsy (though
heartfelt) poetry her radiant beauty, all in the hopes of
stealing a kiss from her delectable lips, each one
tremulously hoping that his would be the face on which
those sparkling crystal eyes would shine with pleasure
and wondrous light.
Gwendolyn's mother, knowing all-to-well the ways of young
women and their passage into adulthood--and even more so
the ways of young men!--kept a protective yet trusting
eye on her only daughter, her treasure, whom she had
raised alone for many years since the black night the
wolf-riders swept out from their craggy lairs in the
Whispering Mountains, leaving many--Gwendolyn's father
among them--dead in their howling wake.
The cleverest of Gwendolyn's suitors found hope and
strategy in this kindly vigil, well-nigh wooing the
mother as fiercely as the daughter, bringing her small
gifts of shimmering cloth or semi-precious stones,
careful to always flatter her as well. While they
congratulated themselves for their subtlety, the widow
merely smiled with good humor and thanked them politely,
hiding her laughter behind her twinkling eyes.
And so it had come to pass that one spring, when life
once again renewed itself in its annual ritual and the
world was ablaze in riotous bloom, Gwendolyn at last gave
her heart to another. He was Petr and he was the
blacksmith's son, a fine and upstanding lad, destined to
be an important man in the village. Though he had seen
but twenty summers, he was strong as a snow bear and few
could stand against him at the festivals, when the men,
young and old, engaged in spirited bouts of wrestling, as
well as other tests of strength and skill.
Yet he did not abuse his strength as some would have and
bully those less fortunate than he; rather, he was a
young man who had a kind word for all and was always
ready to help those who needed it, whose unfailing spirit
of good humor endeared him to all he met, even to those
who might otherwise have regarded him with dark jealousy.
It was these qualities of character, and not his fine
young form, that at length won him the heart of the fair
Gwendolyn--and yes, the approval of her white-haired
mother, who began to secretly look forward to the day
when she could bounce a wee bairn upon her knee.
From clumsy kisses stolen when the gaze of Gwendolyn's
mother wandered for a moment, Gwen's and Petr's youthful
fumblings had progressed apace as their attraction and
liking for each other grew. Petr had been an ardent
suitor, and a thankful one.
Though he had much to offer a young woman and had been
the target of many flirtatious advances from the village
beauties, in his humble way, the lad was constantly
amazed and overjoyed that Gwendolyn--whose very form was
perfection, whose long blonde tresses framed the most
kissable face, complete with a pert nose lightly
sprinkled with freckles, whose budding womanly curves
filled out her bodice in the most delightful way, hinting
at the glorious treasures waiting to be discovered
beneath it--for some inexplicable reason found him as
entrancing as he found her.
Though he could at times scarce believe it, yet Petr was
no fool and did not question his good fortune; rather, he
thanked the gods and wooed her with an ardor which belied
his youth and inexperience.
And so it had come to pass that as Petr became accepted
by Gwendolyn's mother and it became apparent to all that
their betrothal was not far distant, the young woman was
allowed to spend time alone with her suitor, out from
under her mother's watchful eye. The two young lovers
joyously reveled in this new found freedom, spending
hours walking hand-in-hand through the shady forests and
sunny fields, losing themselves in each other's eyes,
sometimes telling each other their innermost thoughts,
sometimes not speaking at all yet knowing those thoughts
just the same, happy to have discovered a love the likes
of which it seemed no one else could have known.
Though she loved Petr with every fiber of her being,
Gwendolyn was, at first, loath to betray the trust she
felt her mother had laid upon her, and though her heart
sang to be near him and she wanted nothing more to be
his, in body as she already was in soul, yet Gwendolyn
preserved her chastity, allowing her lover liberty to run
his hands over her clothed form, inflaming her, his
kisses scalding her as they rained down upon her tender
lips and soft cheeks and the warm hollows of her neck,
but steadily demurring to disrobe or consummate their
relationship with the ultimate physical expressions of
love.
Yet as the fragrant spring nights grew longer and summer
returned to the land, Gwendolyn found it ever harder to
refuse his intimate caresses, to fight against the
feverish urges of her young blood. Finally, on her
eighteenth birthday, she resisted no more, succumbing to
her aching desires and allowing Petr to be with her in
that wondrous manner which she had hitherto only dreamt
about.
The scene of her deflowering was a small glade, in which
wildflowers grew in riotous profusion, their perfume
filling the noon air with a heady scent that urged her on
to wild abandon. The sleepy glade lay along the gently
rippling shore of a crystalline blue lake, whose sparking
depths seemed a mirror reflecting her soul. Many had been
the time Gwendolyn and Petr had stood along the shores of
the Lake of Dreams before that magical day, gazing out
over the deep waters, its name apt as they stared in
silence, alone in their thoughts but taking comfort in
each other's presence.
Though the lake was idyllic, not a soul had ever intruded
upon their solitude, for the lake was whispered by the
elders to be a dangerous place, dark and mysterious.
There, the villagers trod but rarely, never staying to
tarry beside the calm waters but passing it as quickly as
they might. Many had been the stories Gwen's grandfather
had wove about the Lake of Dreams, stories which she had
dismissed (as she had most of the tales she loved) as the
fantastic imaginings of an old man's mind, though in this
instance, the same stories were told by others in the
village as well.
It was said that unwary travelers to the lake--
particularly those who came upon its shores at night--
would hear the sirens calling them, entrancing them to
enter the inviting waters which would enfold them like a
lover, locking them in its eternal embrace. And indeed,
Gwendolyn could recall, in her lifetime, an instance
where a village lad had disappeared whilst returning home
one evening, his path certain to have taken him past the
lake. Though none knew his fate, and while there were
many more prosaic dangers that could have claimed his
life along the forest trail he rode, yet the elders in
her village knew that it was the lake that had taken him
and he was seen no more.
Though Gwendolyn had, with the wisdom of youth, dismissed
the tales she had heard of the lake, yet she had been
loath to go there, until Petr revealed that he had been
to its shores many times, claiming that its beauty--
though less than her own!--was wondrous to behold. As a
young man, he had first gone to the Lake of Dreams on a
dare. He confessed to her that as he had approached that
first time, the stories he had heard had nearly unmanned
him and caused him to turn back, but then his courage
rose within him and he pressed forward until at last he
stood ankle-deep in its waters.
After a short while, he realized that the stories were
just that--stories--and that he had nothing to fear. He
had returned to the lake on many subsequent occasions,
finding it an idyllic spot in which to relax, far from
the cares of the ordinary world. Emboldened by his words,
and secure in the knowledge that Petr would never allow
any harm to befall her, Gwendolyn had accompanied her
love to the lake and been entranced. There, she and Petr
had discovered the grotto that they termed "their secret
spot," belonging only to them, and it was there that Gwen
and Petr first explored the mysteries of the joining of
woman and man.
It was at this hidden retreat that Gwendolyn found
herself one warm and sultry eve in her eighteenth summer,
waiting for her lover to appear. Inhaling deeply of the
invigorating night air, she thought back to that
momentous day, scant weeks earlier, and smiled, the
enigmatic smile of a young woman who has tasted--or
believes she has tasted--of all life has to offer.
Though their first experiences had been in the golden
light of day, lately, as the sweltering heat of the days
grew to seemingly rival that of the forge at which Petr
toiled for his living, she and her beloved had taken to
meeting there in the cooler summer night, the soft
silvery glow of the moons washing over their writhing
forms as they feverishly coupled on the grass or splashed
in the shallows, their cries of abandon echoing over the
gently rippling waters of the lake, their slick sweat
washed away by the waves.
She and Petr had arranged to meet at the glade again this
evening, but while she had arrived, Petr had apparently
tarried at his forge and had yet to appear. In fairness
to the young man, it was more that Gwen was early than
that he was late for their tryst. As she strolled
barefoot through the tall grasses, breathing deeply of
the softly swaying flowers--their tantalizing scent
wafting in the gentle breeze--Gwen could scarce contain
herself as she looked forward with eager anticipation to
the lovemaking to come.
For while she had resisted Petr's advances for some time,
once she had given in to them, the young woman had
discovered that she was a deeply sensual creature. She
thrilled to the touch of her lover's lips and tongue and
fingers on her soft skin, eagerly stroking her burning
flesh, sliding along to plumb and taste her core and
coaxing climax after delicious climax from her trembling
young body.
She reveled in her ability to give him the same sinful
pleasure, loving the feel of his excited hardness in her
mouth, his salty essence spraying across her flickering
tongue. And most of all she delighted in the feel of his
solid manhood prying apart her netherlips, penetrating
her moist body to its depths and filling her to near
bursting with exquisite sensations as she pulled him
tighter to her, raking her fingernails across his heaving
buttocks.
As she waited for him, her mind racing along its
libidinous course, the sound of the waves rhythmically
slapping against the shore seemed to call to her,
inviting the young woman to enter the warm and comforting
water. Without realizing she was doing so, she found
herself listening to the pulsing beat, almost certain
that she could make out words, if only she tried hard
enough.
Though she knew it was crazy, in the back of her mind she
felt that the lake was watching her-- had watched her and
Petr through all of those long, sultry summer days and
nights as they writhed along its shores and, their lusts
temporarily sated, cooled the flames of their passion in
its depths. Given the erotic tableaus the lake had
witnessed, the part it had played in their post-
lovemaking games--and sometimes, their lovemaking itself-
-it had entwined itself into her unconscious until it had
become an intimate friend.
As if the lake had called her to it, she meandered
through the clearing towards the shore, her deft fingers
slowly unlacing the stays securing her dress. Reaching
the edge of the water, she grasped the garment's hem and
lifted it sensually above her slim waist, past the
swelling mounds of her breasts and over her head, mussing
her locks, her body arching lazily as a cat as she
disrobed, as if to teasingly display her charms to her
lover before her. Yet no human eyes alighted upon her
curved form; no voices cried out in pleased wonderment at
the alluring glories she had revealed. Only the Lake of
Dreams stared at the supple young woman, and its counsel
it kept to itself.
Slowly Gwen turned in the cool night breeze, the
discarded dress falling, forgotten, to the gently swaying
grasses behind her, lifting herself on her tiptoes, arms
outstretched as if she were one of the winged-folk about
to take flight. Well aware that it inflamed Petr when she
wore naught beneath her dress, the young woman had sought
to please him. The silvery light from the moons shone and
reflected off her nude form with an eerie luminescence; a
veritable goddess, her smooth skin seemed to glow from
within.
Gwen's blonde hair, slightly disheveled, lay in waves
over her shoulders, the winds taking pleasure in toying
with loose strands. Her young breasts, firm and supple,
were outthrust proudly as she slowly pivoted, their
undersides cast into shadow, the breeze caressing her
hardening nipples like a lover, causing the most
delightful sensations to dart through her taut body.
Beneath those supple mounds, past the flat of her stomach
and the delicate little hollow of her belly button, a
trimmed tuft of hair momentarily concealed in the evening
light the glorious jewel which lay at the juncture of her
thighs.
The cheeks of her rounded ass quivered slightly,
delightfully, as she spun around, unconsciously and
without shame displaying her exquisite body to the world,
arms spread wide as if in supplication, a mute entreaty
to an imaginary lover. Her thighs and calves taut with
the strain of maintaining her balance on tiptoe, her slim
feet digging, spread toes squishing, into the soft, moist
loam at the edge of the loch, an observer stumbling onto
the scene would have sworn he beheld a water nymph,
arisen from the murky depths of the lake to gambol upon
its shores in naked splendour.
Slowly Gwen trod into the lake, its welcoming waves
lapping first at her feet and ankles, then rising to
caress her calves, her knees, her thighs. With a fluid
motion she dove forward, cleaving the water, immersing
herself in its comforting embrace. Surfacing, she kicked
strongly, slim feet churning up a foam, driving her away
from the shore. After a few moments, she rolled and came
to rest on her back.
Floating free, bobbing gently upon the waves, Gwen stared
up at the brilliant night sky, aflame with glittering
jewels. Her long hair floated in intricate patterns upon
the gently rippling surface of the lake, creating the
illusion of a gossamer ha-lo around her head; pale
breasts with their engorged, darkened centers glistened
in the moons' light as the water dripped from her. The
warm water embraced her, stroking her like an attentive
lover, tiny tendrils licking out and kissing her flesh in
a thousand secret places.
Though Gwen had swum with Petr in the lake many times
'ere this night, yet she had never felt its presence more
keenly. While the thought did not penetrate her
consciousness, deep within she felt, almost
instinctively, that on some primal level it was aware of
her, that hidden eyes watched her, desired her. The
lapping liquid played softly at the portals of her
womanhood, splashing gently across those velvety lips and
the tender little clitoris hidden in their scented folds,
dewing in little beads on her soft maidenhairs, pooling
with moonlit sparkles like a jewel in the hollow of her
belly button.
Closing her eyes, luxuriating in the sensual languor
suffusing her body, Gwen's mind drifted back, unbidden,
to the first time she had disrobed upon the shores of the
lake, the day that Petr had taken her maidenhead and she
had completed her journey from girl to woman. Floating
calmly, she languidly reached down betwixt her dripping
thighs with one hand, not so much stroking her sensitive
charms as spreading the petals of her swollen labia with
her fingers, to allow the all-knowing waters greater
access to the heated flesh.
A sigh of satisfaction escaped her parted lips as she
bobbed on the gentle swells, audible proof that the
lake's caress was making the young woman as wet inside as
it was outside.
As the water stimulated her, Gwen smiled to remember that
first time with Petr, the eager anticipation mingled with
trepidation-- worried that it would hurt, wildly curious
about how it would feel to be filled by Petr's manhood,
worried that she would be clumsy, not good enough, and
that Petr would cease to love her. In the end, all of her
fears had proved groundless, for though indeed she had
been clumsy, as had Petr, her wildest imaginings had been
insufficient to anticipate the pleasures to be born of
such clumsy fumbling.
Her lover had kissed her gently all the while whilst
disrobing her, one article of clothing at a time. As each
new morsel of flesh was revealed to the golden light of
day, he had slid his lips to it, kissing and nibbling on
it while stroking her trembling body with his hands--
roughened from his trade yet now seeming to be soft as
the clouds--causing the most delightful sensations to
dart through her excited form. Gwen's head had spun when
at last her virginal breasts lay exposed to the summer
air and Petr had captured a cherry-red nipple between his
lips. Why had she waited so long?
He alternated his oral caresses, sliding his mouth and
tongue from one glorious mound to the other, gently
laving them with his tongue, sucking on her hardening
peaks, drawing soft sighs of rapture from the young
woman's parted lips, teasing her and drawing out her
excitement.
When at last he had delved betwixt her thighs and there
found her damp portal, Gwen felt that surely she must die
from pleasure. His lips and tongue feasted on her
fragrant bounty, parting her slick lower lips and tasting
her heated core, stabbing into her until she exploded in
frenzied spasms upon his face, arching up off the ground,
clenching his head so tightly with her strong thighs that
they were both gasping for breath by the time she fell
back, wonderfully sated, upon the sward. Though she was
eager to repay his oral ministrations in kind, her lover
could wait no more.
Hearing her staccato cries as she came-- feeling her
clench at him, her fingers entwined in his coal-black
hair, pulling his face harder against her with her hands-
-had fired Petr's desire 'til it was as hot as the molten
iron he worked in his forge. Much as he would have loved
for his wonderful Gwen to have used her mouth on him,
that was a delight which would wait for later that day.
His need to make her his own was paramount.
In an erotic haze Gwen had watched Petr rise above her,
her legs opening wide of their own volition to accept
him, her flower brazenly, unabashedly on display for him
to pluck. Flushed with the heat of the day and the
moment, it had seemed an eternity to Gwen as he
tremblingly lowered himself upon her, his erect shaft
nudging momentarily at the sopping entrance before
slipping hesitantly inside.
Her gasps came louder as he slowly sheathed himself in
her velvety wetness. The momentary pain she felt when he
broke through the last of her barriers was quickly
replaced with intense sensations of delight streaming
through her as he plunged in and out of her core, timidly
at first, then harder and harder, the speed of his
thrusts increasing as Petr's lust drove him spiraling
towards the sky. Impaled on his rod, Gwen writhed in
ecstasy on the grass beneath him, her fingers clutching
at the sod, tearing loose great clumps of grasses and
wildflowers as he drove her once more to passion's
precipice and forced her over, senses falling and flying.
Their mingled cries filled the glade, the smell of sex
mixing with the hazy perfume of the flowers, as Gwen
exploded around his shaft. The feel of his love's sheath
clenching around him as she came, the sight of her
angelic face contorted with lust as she lashed from side
to side beneath him, drove Petr over the edge. Burying
himself in her to the hilt, his ejaculation poured from
him stronger than anything he'd experienced before, until
he felt that surely he had poured his life essence into
his ladylove.
Exhausted, the two lovers had lain panting side by side,
arms and legs entwined, tiny rivulets of perspiration
mingling, cooling them. Yet with the resiliency of youth,
they were soon enjoying the pleasures of the flesh once
more, and the day would not end before Petr had paid
salty tribute not only to Gwen's moist womanhood yet
again, but also had spent in her zealous mouth.
The remembrance of that wonderful day was so vivid, the
warm waters toying at her slit so rhythmic and enticing,
that Gwen felt an orgasm welling up within her body, like
a bubble trapped for eons deep in the lake suddenly
released and rising up, up through the murky depths to
explode with a splash on the surface, dying as it was
freed. Eyes closed, concentrating on the pleasure she
felt, the young woman did not realize that her beloved
had at last reached the glade and, seeing her glistening
nude form gently bobbing upon the waters of the lake, was
swiftly divesting himself of his clothing. Her gleaming
body was entrancing, capturing Petr, drawing him in as if
she were a sorceress who had laid a glamour upon him, and
his erect manhood stood as solid evidence of his desire
for her as he completed disrobing.
Their minds on the delights of the flesh, it took both of
them by surprise. One moment Gwen was floating--both
mentally and physically--with Petr preparing to join her;
the next moment slim hands broke through from beneath the
surface of the lake, grasping the young woman in a steely
grip and dragging her beneath its waters! Snapped out of
her erotic reverie, the shocked young woman flailed
around, a scream forming on her lips.
The water, formerly as attentive as a lover, now flooded
cold and lifeless into her mouth, choking her as she
coughed and gasped, her thoughts of escape now overridden
by the overwhelming desire to breath. Her head spun; the
glittering light of the stars blinked out as she spiraled
downwards into the inky blackness, to be replaced by
flashing lights and thunderous roaring, seemingly from
within her own mind, before that too faded and there was
only oblivion.
From the shore, Petr looked on in horror as Gwen sank
beneath the waves. An anguished cry, as of an animal
wounded by a woodsman's arrow, split the clear night air
as he galvanized into action, sprinting into the lake
before diving forward. Scant few seconds had passed until
his strong, clean strokes brought him to the spot where
Gwen had disappeared.
Filling his lungs, he dove repeatedly into the now-
sinister waters, but in the absence of sunlight, the
gloom was impenetrable. Yet the young man refused to
readily give up, to accept that his love had been torn
from him before his eyes. It was not until exhaustion
forced him back onto shore--his gut-wrenching sobs
mingling with the cries of the night birds that Gwen had
loved so dear--that he was forced to admit that she was
gone.
He returned with many villagers the following day to
search for her, but none save Petr and Gwen's mother
would enter the lake, which once again bore a placid
face. Yet though they searched the length of the day--
until the shadows of the swaying trees had grown long, as
had the fears of the villagers, who were growing steadily
more insistent that they must be away from this accursed
place by nightfall--no trace of the young woman was
found. That night hushed voices around the village
concurred--the Lake of Dreams had claimed another victim.
And in the grotto where he and Gwen had frolicked, Petr
the blacksmith's son built a memorial to his love,
fashioning her form in wrought iron as best he could,
garlanded in wild iron flowers, serenaded by gleaming
iron birds, cleverly constructed so that when the wind
that rustled the long grasses caressed it, a low,
haunting note sounded along the shore.
Though he visited this shrine often (though never at
night), Gwen's mother came but rarely, and the other
villagers not at all. And the summer eventually turned to
fall, and the trees lost their golden leaves and the
white snow fell, chill blasts screaming down from the
jagged peaks, and life in the village resumed its normal
routine. In the fullness of time, Petr assumed the mantel
of village blacksmith. He treated Gwen's mother like his
own and never looked at another woman with love in his
eyes again.
***
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Please keep this story, and all erotic stories out of
the hands of children. They should be outside playing
in the sunshine, not thinking about adult situations.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 20