KB - a better class of pervert


Carlos and the Wood Fairy (MF)

Rajah Dodger · 340

0 Members and 1 Guest are viewing this topic.

Offline Rajah Dodger

  • Pervert
  • **
    • Posts: 50
    • Woos/Boos: +10/-0
    • Gender: Male
  • It’s not Christmas until Hans Gruber falls!
on: September 16, 2022, 03:56:14 AM
Carlos and the Wood Fairy, by Rajah Dodger (c) 2007, 2009

     "Once upon a time..."

     "Aw, Kay," Stewart interrupted, "why do you have to read those kiddie stories? I’m not a little boy any more, for Pete’s sake – I’m starting college this fall!"

     Kay, his babysitter, put the book down and sighed. "Look, Stu. You and I both know that you’re perfectly capable of staying home by yourself and not burning down the house or otherwise getting into serious trouble. Unfortunately, your parents don’t believe it yet. And with what they pay me, I’m not going to try very hard to convince them."

     Kay sat up and stretched, unconsciously arching her chest forward as she thought about Stewart’s parents. They had been very convincing indeed in order to get her to cancel a hot Friday night date. She ran both hands through her red-gold hair, pulling the soft cascade back behind her shoulders before continuing. "So you might as well relax and give it a listen – besides, in honor of your recent birthday I did a little research and found a fairytale you probably haven’t heard before."

     After more grumbling, the young man leaned back onto his pillow, stretched out on the bed and put a "try to entertain me" frown on his face. Kay folded her long legs beneath her short skirt and reopened the book, one hand resting casually on Stewart’s leg. She began to read...

     *** *** ***

     Once upon a time, there was a boy named Carlos. He lived with his father, a poor widower, and they shared a tumbledown cottage on the edge of the forest. His mother had died long years ago, and his father had become reclusive and ill-tempered. Despite that, Carlos grew up healthy, energetic, and cheerful.

     From spring through autumn each year, Carlos led the goats in the morning to graze in the forest. He took with him an old cloth bag containing a collection of wood scraps, a carving knife, and a slice of bread. During the day he turned the wood scraps into carvings that his father could sell to travelers in the nearby town. "Work hard, Carlos," his father lectured him sternly each morning, "and fill the bag before you return home." Carlos and the goats skipped and clopped through the forest paths, looking for a nicely shadowed glade where the goats could graze and Carlos could sit and work comfortably on the soft ground.

     When the sun was fully overhead, Carlos stopped working and took the bread out of his bag to feed the goats. For his own lunch, he picked wild berries from the nearby bushes and leaned against a hummock, letting the tart juices drip slowly down his throat. Once the last of the berries was gone, Carlos stood up and stretched his legs, then danced around the glade, filled with the glorious energy of life and nature. The sun shone, birds sang in the branches overhead, and the goats nibbled on the green grass while Carlos danced and sang. Afterward, he sat back down and took up his carving knife, and before evening fell Carlos had filled his bag with a variety of delicate and fancy carvings that would fetch a good price for his father.

     One fine day, when Carlos had just finished his lunch, a maiden appeared in the glade. Now she was a sight such as Carlos had never seen!  A sheer white dress floated around her like a protective blanket of butterflies, a wreath of flowers adorned her head, and hair like a cascading waterfall of ruddy gold framed her face and fell to the middle of her back. Carlos had seen girls in the town, but never a woman as captivating as this apparition. Next to her elegance, he felt like one of his pieces of uncarved wood – raw, rough and unfinished.

     *** *** ***

     Kay paused to catch her breath and licked her lips. Her charge was lying down with his eyes studiously closed, but his body language told her he was awake and listening. She wriggled a bit and continued.

     *** *** ***

     The young woman smiled at him and in a sweet voice asked, "Carlos, do you like to dance?"

     Carlos smiled back, his shyness fading. "Oh yes! I love being in the woods because I can dance as much as I like!"

     "Come then, and I will teach you a new dance."

     She took Carlos by the hand and a fluttering cloud of birds joined them. With the birds providing their sweet song, the two began to dance slowly, then faster around and around the glade. The maiden held Carlos close, her legs brushing against his but not tripping him. The wind in the leaves kept time as their dance moved faster. Carlos felt his heartbeat racing every time she pressed against him; he forgot completely about the goats and his carving as the music filled him with a tingling sensation, a sense of lightheaded excitement such as he had never experienced.

     Suddenly, the sun’s rays were vanishing over the hillside and the maiden and birds were gone. Carlos found himself alone in the glade with just the goats and a half-full bag of carvings and wood. Sadly, his clothing in disarray, he picked up his things and headed back through the forest toward home. With every step he worried about what his father would say seeing the unfinished bag, and he reproached himself bitterly for his inattention to duty.

     By the time Carlos got home, his worries had so lined his face that his father thought him ill and didn’t ask about the carvings. Carlos went to bed that night thankful for the reprieve, and promised to work twice as hard to make up for the lost day. Pumping his fist into his thin pillow, he vowed that he would never abandon his duty again. Carlos pulled the rough blanket up and closed his eyes, tossing and turning before finally finding the respite of sleep.

     He dreamed of butterflies. Butterflies in myriad shades of yellow, white, and rose-tinted pink, surrounding him with their fluttering wings, covering his body and lifting him up out of the bed, through the window and into the air. He found himself flying, lying on a tingling carpet of shifting colors, the wind in the clouds ruffling his hair and tickling its way down his back, his body slipping and sliding on the butterfly blanket which wrapped around him like a living towel, a wriggling damp and sticky towel rubbing into every inch of his exposed skin.

     *** *** ***

     Kay set the book down for a moment. Her cheeks were flushed with color, and Stewart took the opportunity to roll from his back onto his side, one leg crossing over the other in a position that just happened to hide the front of his pants from her view. She smiled to herself, and kept reading to him.

     *** *** ***

     Early the next morning, a sleepy-eyed Carlos had to first clean his bed sheets. Only then could he fix breakfast for his father and take his bag and the goats to the wood. As he got farther from the cottage, his mood lightened and soon he was once again dancing alongside the goats. Once settled in his favorite glade, he sat cross-legged on the ground and pulled out the first piece of wood. Carlos worked with a feverish intensity, easily completing twice as many carvings as usual. When he took his break at noon, he picked a few berries, but held back his urge to dance. Instead, he made up a song to his goats: "I should not dance, I cannot dance, please dance for me, my little goats."

     He was surprised to hear a voice in response. "Come and dance with me!" It was the beautiful maiden from the previous day. Carlos blushed, remembering that encounter, but stood his ground and asked her to leave. "I cannot dance with you – I left my father yesterday without carvings to sell, and today I must do those and more."

     But the maiden responded, "Dance with me, Carlos, and I promise your work will be done." With the birds singing gloriously in the glade as before and the sun shining through her gossamer clothing, Carlos could not resist. He took her hand, and once again they danced throughout the glade in swirls of music, now holding each other at arm’s length, now with her sheer garment pressed against the boy’s chest. He blushed when that happened, but she only held him tighter as their two bodies moved as one to an inner irresistible rhythm.

     This time, when the sun dropped from sight, the maiden did not immediately disappear. Instead she held Carlos’s hand as he turned to look at his bag. A cloud of birds exploded from atop it, and his eyes opened wide to see it stuffed full of carvings. "Take this with you, Carlos, but have neither questions nor complaints," she admonished him. "Remember, no questions, no complaints!" And only then did the maiden vanish.

     Carlos, bewildered and still feeling the slide of the maiden’s dress against his skin, walked the goats home while singing softly in the evening twilight. At home he gave his father the full bag. His father was still unhappy about the previous day, however, and cursed bitterly about his son’s lack of responsibility. In the middle of his rant, a sound came from the room. Both men turned, and saw that the once-full bag was empty, its contents gone as if they had never existed.

     Now Carlos was forced to explain everything to his father, the dancing, the vanishing maiden and her final admonition. His father looked both angry and frightened. "You must never ever speak to that woman again! The villagers tell of a fairy that lives in the wood; I never believed the stories until now. She is supposed to give presents to little girls, but boys she takes and they are never seen again!" He looked ruefully at the empty bag. "And if you’d told me everything first, we’d at least have had a full bag to sell tomorrow."

     Dinner that night was a quiet affair, both men absorbed in their own thoughts. For his part, Carlos found it almost impossible to match the sweet young maiden of the forest with the dangerous fairy of his father’s description.

     That night, Carlos dreamed again. He found himself in the forest glade as shadows surrounded him – the shadows of birds flying overhead. Their wings flapped loudly as they lifted him into the air, up through and above the white clouds. The birds set him down on the top of a cloud where he saw the maiden waiting for him. Her beauty shone, her face was radiant, and when she beckoned with her finger, his entire body tingled and quivered to be with her. "Fear not," she told him. "Did I not keep my promise to fill your bag? But I’ve given you a present, so now you must share a present with me!" The maiden pulled Carlos close and one delicate hand slid down his stomach into the waistband of his pants. Lights filled his head as the world exploded around him.

     Carlos woke early, his bed sheets sticky, and again he had to clean up before he could make his morning trip to the glade. Once there he carved away, singing to himself, focused on his work. At noon the maiden once again appeared, and Carlos jumped up remembering his father’s warning. He tried to run away, but whichever direction he turned she was standing in front of him, purring, "Be not afraid, come dance with me one last time." Carlos thought it would be rude to turn down just one final dance, so he set down his wood and knife and took the maiden’s hand. She in turn put her arm around his waist, and they moved together with the music. But Carlos was still uncertain, and finally the question broke from his lips:  "Are you the wood fairy as the villagers say?"

     A strange look came over the maiden's face, and as they danced, she sang his answer. It was the story of a young maiden, shining in the bright flush of first womanhood, and of the evil forest spirit jealous of her youth and beauty. Caught in the forest after dark, she fell victim to the spirit’s curse, and her own life and joy were stolen away. The only way to lift the curse was for her to find a young man who held within him an innocent maiden’s soul. "And with you, Carlos, I know my search is ended!" 

     Her voice rose and her hands tightened on his shoulders; she clutched him tightly now and they spun faster. Her words danced dizzily around Carlos as they twirled. This was more than dance, it was the glory of the first blush of morning, the rising of sap in the first spring blooms, the heat of the midday sun. Their clothing disappeared and they burst through clouds of butterflies, their feet leaving the ground as the maiden and the young man merged in a dance higher than life, his very consciousness dissolving into her until birds, butterflies, maiden and man exploded in a soundless burst of liquid light.

     When the birds ceased their song, a woman of indeterminate age stood in the glade drawing her threadbare shawl against the chill of twilight. Long reddish-blonde hair framed a face of mature beauty marked by old, old eyes that looked around, taking in the goats and the tattered bag on the ground. With a soft song to the watching goats, she picked up the bag and headed out of the forest. Eventually she arrived at the cottage, where she claimed to have found the bag and the goats.

     The man who lived there was angry that his son had apparently run away, and was willing to share his dinner with the attractive stranger who had brought back his goats. After the meal was finished, the man went back to look through the window. The woman came up from behind and slid her arms around him. "Are you looking for someone?" she asked.

     "I had a son, a disobedient one from the looks of things; I don’t think he’s coming home tonight."

     Her fingers moved sinuously up and down the man’s chest and stomach. "Then perhaps you'll accept my company for the evening instead. I did bring something to pay for your hospitality." She nibbled at the back of his neck as he turned his head toward the door. There next to her shawl was the bag, now filled to overflowing with both elegant wooden carvings and glittering golden butterflies, enough for him to buy a barn full of goats and live in comfort for the rest of his life. The woman hugged him tightly and kissed the back of his neck, murmuring, "No questions, no complaints." His eyes opened at those words, but her hand slid down inside his belt and he soon lost the power of speech. When she finished removing his clothing, she ran her hands over his naked body like an auctioneer appreciating a fine sculpture. She moved around in front of him, slowly removed her own garments, and kneeled in front of his erection looking up to answer the question he could no longer speak.

     "It's not just boys that I take."

     And the Wood Fairy lived happily ever after.

     *** *** ***

     "Jeez, Kay, what kind of a fairy tale is that?" Stewart was squirming on the bed, as much from the images in the story as from Kay’s fingers which were working their way up the back of his leg.

     "The best kind for a strapping young man," she said as she palmed the back of his pants and squeezed. Kay looked at the wall clock. "Your mom said they’d be ‘extremely’ late – they have twenty-five years to catch up with at this reunion. That should give us plenty of time, but I’ll unwrap your present for you anyway." With that she sat up straight on the bed, grabbed the bottom of her sweater and pulled the fuzzy garment up and over her head in one smooth motion.

     Stewart’s eyes opened taking in her swaying dark-tipped globes, no bra hiding them from his vision, and he lunged forward to taste them before they could vanish. Kay sighed, then moaned as his untrained mouth fastened hungrily on one nipple. "Oh yeah," she breathed, and the bedroom was quickly a confused blur of motion as skirt, pants, boxers and panties joined the sweater on the floor.

     Kay held Stewart’s tensely quivering erection tightly in one hand, brushing his tip against her own needy folds. "Wow, Stu, this feels like it was carved out of wood! Well, here’s your birthday present – remember, no questions, no complaints!"

     And there were indeed no more complaints from the young man!

     The End.

/ END /

Endnote: Workshopped at the Fish Tank (; published at Bare Back Magazine ( in August 2007 for their Erotic Fairy Tale Challenge.

Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent

Unless you know you're outgunned and have to get the first shot in.

 Click here to view my stories
Or on asstr by clicking here