The Tollkeeper (Fairy Tales Behaving Badly) (4 page)

She moaned when she felt him withdraw, even tried to put her hand out to stop his retreat. He responded by taking both her hands and pinning them above her head with one of his own, so that she was helpless beneath him. He smiled at her then, and his smile was the Mountain of old, the one who had taken whores in army camps years ago. His bed companions then had known what that smile meant. It promised that the Mountain would take them hard and fast, would not stop for all their exhaustion. His sweet little redhead would know it soon enough, as well.

“I… “ she whimpered, “I….”

He re-entered her again with painstaking slowness, and she cried out at the delicious ache, as he stretched her again.

“Shhh,” he said, and then did what he could to get her to disobey. His mouth opened, and a tongue traced a wet circle across the full tip, making her watch him as he did. The sight of his rough, sweeping tongue teasing her nipple before his teeth came into play, biting at the delicate nub, turned her breathing ragged.

She’d almost forgotten that his cock was still buried as far as it can go inside her. She was reminded of it again when he began pumping into her more aggressively, and he lifted his head so he could watch her breasts jiggle with every forceful thrust into her body. She began matching him movement for movement, uncertain at first, and then growing in pace and urgency. He drew back and plunged completely into her sheath, so deep he would hit her womb, and she screamed in mingled hurt and ecstasy. Her head rolled as he ravaged her, his tongue all over. In no time at all she was bucking up, and the Mountain felt her erupt into white-hot pleasure, clenching tightly around him as a series of wrenching spasms took hold of her.

She was still twitching when he resumed the pace, her delirium not yet over before he was forcing her back into new heights. The Mountain was still hard, his cock still throbbing and eager. He had never been a gentle lover, and he had wanted her for far too long.

He moved up to a sitting position, taking her with him. Now she was straddling his lap with her back against his chest, her legs on either side of him, and his cock was deeper into her than ever before. He dragged his finger down her arms and sides, finding her hips for leverage.

He drove up into her, nearly lifting her body off the bed. Her squeal was long and loud, her head falling back. He nipped at her neck and shoulder, thrusted into her again without pause.

“So big,” she panted, and he said nothing. He impaled her again, shoving the flared head of his cock back inside her, her cunt lips pulling him in despite her meager protests. He threw his massive legs over the side of the cot, his feet on the stone floor for leverage so he could ram more brutally into her, grunting each time he filled her to the brim. His arms found their way underneath her thighs, lifting and spreading her wide so he could control the force of his pounding, and she would be helpless to stop him. The more she cried out, the harder he speared into her, the rougher the intensity of her fucking. She couldn’t move, was only forced to bounce up and down on his lap like a small, ragged doll, so she threw her hands behind her to wrap around his neck and hang on.

Th rain continued on well into the night, and he was still thrusting many minutes later, sending her into another orgasm. The Mountain’s pace had not slowed, and he would not stop. She was sore and tight, and her soft, broken gasps were music to him. Her cunt sucked at him painfully, but with the pain and discomfort also came breathless pleasure, sending her hurtling back up into one more explosion.

“I cannot take this!” She wailed. “I cannot - unh! Unh! Unh!” He loved the grunts she made every time he shoved into her, into her slick core. “Unh! I cannot, oh please oh please I c-cannot take - ahhh!” He lifted her hips at an angle so his cock would rub along her tender folds, and surged into her, robbing her of words. This time he was slow and deliberate, lifting her slowly off his lap before allowing his cock to corkscrew its way into her again. “Oh, oh, no…” she gasped, as her muscles clenched at him, little wet sounds leaving her cunt as her walls clamored to keep him inside her. “No… oh gods, no… oh… oh….”

He fucked her for a long, sweet time, watching her rise and fall on his cock, at the sweet, shattered sounds she was making. And then, with no warning at all, he drove her up and dropped her onto his shaft, impaling her again with brutal accuracy.

“No-ohhhhh!”

She convulsed hard, giving into the violence of her release.

With one last thrust, he exploded into her, roaring as he spent copiously into her tiny womb, stream after stream jerking into her small cunt, filling her to the brim with his seed.

Only then he did slow down, his cock still spewing sporadically into her, sending little tiny shocks through her body as she sank back against him, completely exhausted. He slipped out of her, and some of his seed spilled out her weeping cunny, onto the ground.

He crushed her to his chest as he fell back on the bed and took her with him, a satisfied rumble issuing from his throat. He felt her wince, at the newfound soreness between her legs.

“I am sorry. I am not very - gentle.”

She smiled at the worry in his voice. “I know,” she said, and pressed a kiss against his jawline.

“Stay with me.” He had not realized how much he wanted her there with him - not just in his bed, but in his life. Not until she had come to him, despite the rain. “Tonight, and tomorrow, and everyday that comes after that.”

It rained hard all through the night and well into the day, and she stayed.

The Mountain found her horse, still grazing underneath the tree. The girl wrapped herself in his fur cloaks, blushing, for her dress was beyond repair. For the first time in weeks, he left his house on the banks by the stone bridge and traveled with her, to the small house she had shared with her grandfather on the furthest edge of the forest, where few people thought to look. She told him a little about herself. How she remembered living in a small village, before a fire broke out and took their house, and her parents’ lives. Of her grandfather’s sudden aversion to living among the populace, because no one had tried to help them. How they found a small cottage in the woods, and had been living there ever since, with a small garden to get them by. She had gone into some villages for a few other meager supplies, but this did not happen often enough for her to be noticed.

When she had heard of the repaired bridge she had taken her chances, hoping she could earn more money for medicine, for her grandfather was weaker. When she had first seen him, walking up to her on the bridge, she had been wary, at first.

“Because I looked like a monster?” He asked, chuckling. He had been called worse by others.

“No,” she said and kissed him, “you were like a majestic stone statue, one who could attack as easily as protect. And as soon as you spoke to me I knew you were kind. I liked how you looked - large and strong and comforting. Every time I crossed that bridge I felt safe, knowing you were there.”

“I am glad you found me kind,” he said, hands already undoing the cloak she wore, pushing the thick material off her shoulders, baring her nakedness to him.

“I like how sometimes you can be kind, and how sometimes you…” she paused and gasped, for the Mountain had taken her breasts in his massive hands, “… are… not.”

They stayed the night. Because she was still sore from the previous night’s excess, the Mountain took her into his mouth instead, her slim hands gripping his rough mane of hair as she moaned out her pleasure. His tongue working deep into her, caressing the places he had previously overlooked; opening up her wet little crevice with his rough, thick fingers. By the time he was done, she was as weak as a kitten, too sensitive to endure more. The Mountain looked down at where she lay burrowed against his chest, his arms around her waist, and found peace.

She had very little possessions, and the Mountain carried them all easily, in his large hands. They stopped by a small grave the next morning, and paid their respects to the only family Billie had ever known. They headed to Barton’s Common, where the villagers knew the Mountain on sight. They were amazed to see him with the beautiful redhead, to watch him sell her horse to an innkeeper. He purchased two stronger stallions and enough supplies to last them several days’ journey.

Finally, he turned in his resignation, and gave the village elder all the proceeds of the toll payments, adding a few more coins of his own - for the three nights the girl had traveled across the bridge for free, for the three nights the Mountain had wanted her, lusted after her, loved her.

The king was pleased to see him return, delighted to see the shy, blushing redhead by his side. Ever true to his word, he gave the Mountain a small estate to live out the rest of his days, and asked if he could give her away, once they had decided on a date for the wedding.

The Mountain took his intended again that night in their new home, and then again - pleasurably, and rough, because he was not a gentle lover.

About Annie Eppa

Annie Eppa is a writer or erotic romance and erotica. When not writing, she can be found gallivanting all over the world as a freelance photographer. She has a strange fascination with matryoshka dolls, and once lived in a treehouse.

Follow her blog for new releases and giveaways at
http://annieeppa.wordpress.com
, and say hi over at her
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New information for her erotic fantasy romance series,
the Maidens
, is on Goodreads, with the first book due out November 2013, with two other books in 2014. View them here:

The Shrinemaiden
|
The Slavemaiden
|
The Silvermaiden

An Excerpt from the Shrinemaiden

She should fetch a good price today, they said.

The madame tells Adelai this as she brushes her hair, until it’s golden enough to her satisfaction. For the first time in her life, Adelai was surrounded by servants, who help her into the elaborate weaves and frills of her bridal gown. Shrinemaidens to be consecrated all wear the same thing - white silk affairs of ribbons and lace, cut low enough to display hints of bosom to draw in more bidders, but high enough to maintain a pretense at modesty. But modesty, Adelai knew, is not one of the many things that shall happen tonight.

Over the babble of the other shrinemaidens getting ready the High Priestess Saleia tells her the same thing, as she scrutinizes her appearance. Though her eyes are failing and her back is stooped from forty years spent overseeing rituals and ceremonies like these, she is quick to spot and point out every flaw, from a wayward lock of hair to the minute, nearly invisible creases in my dress. Tonight, she insists, must be perfect. High Priestess Saleia runs the temple of Inne-annah, in the kingdom of Atalantea, like a soldiers’ barrack, and to girls like Adelai it feels natural to be just a little afraid of her. It is hard to imagine that the high priestess had, once upon a very long time, been a shrinemaiden herself, with her wrinkled face and long nose.

“Show no nervousness!” She reminds the girls in her harsh nasal voice. “Your auction price shall depend on your manner and bearing, and your future shall depend on your auction price. Need I repeat myself again on the consequences of receiving a low bid?”

The High Priestess need not. Everyone in the room was very much aware of what a low price would mean. A mediocre existence playing mistress to unimportant men at best; plying the trade in the illegal brothels still active within the city, at the worst.

A high bidding price, however, meant power. The chance to consort with kings and princes.

Among the kingdom elite, a shrinemaiden’s virginity is a sought-after luxury.

- from
The Shrinemaiden
, November 2013 on Amazon Kindle