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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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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
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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
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The Lake Of Dreams
by Pulp Fan (pulpfan26@hotmail.com)
***
Gwendolyn's life changed forever the day she drowned.
(MF, F-solo, fantasy)
***
Author's Note: 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?
***
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 snowbear
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 a 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 trode 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 maiden hairs,
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 fumblings.
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 lady love. 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 aeons 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 spiralled 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.
***
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 64