by HAL

Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Reluctant, Magic, Heterosexual, Fiction, Slow, .

Desc: Fantasy Sex Story: Being the true story of Rumpelstiltskin, the Brothers Grimm rather tidied it up for a family audience.

"You lying little bitch, Sharon"

"She isn't lying" The big plough boy moved towards the speaker, his soft features belied his immense strength, and his rather slow nature. He could pummel anybody, and would, who was rude to Sharon. Sharon, with her lovely golden hair that reached in waves nearly to her waist, with her beautiful face, natural red lips, shapely bust and swaying hips. Joe would not have been able to say any of that, he just knew he liked her and would do anything for his friend; his was not a sexual attraction in the traditional sense, more the attraction of beauty. The others boys now, that was a totally different story. "She isn't lying"

"No, no, okay, I can see that now. Relax Joe"

"S'alright Joe, he's just an old silly" responded Sharon. For all her feminine wiles and her enjoyable power over most of the young men of the village, she had no desire to see violence done for her.

It was about the age of 9 that Sharon realised that her golden locks and innocent face could get her most of what she wanted and avoid most of what she didn't. When she learned to turn the tears on to order the world was truly hers to command. Adults fell at the feet of this delightfully pretty girl and could never believe ill of her.

As she grew beyond the filling out age she found fewer adult women believed her stories, now they tended to believe she was a sexual predator and feared and envied her in equal amounts; but almost all adult men and boys did. She would bat her eyelids and suggest her parcels were too heavy and 'hey presto!' a string of bearers would be tagging along behind her.

Girls fell into two camps, those who hated her because she could take any boy that a girl had a fancy for; her attraction was visceral, undeniable. The other camp wanted her as a friend because she could take any boy from any girl; they wanted to be on the right side of her.

From an early age she would tell stories "I was born of the fairies and left with Ma and Pa to bring me up until I'm old enough to rejoin them." "I was with the fairies last night and they taught me spells, but I can't tell you them." "I saw Sandra show some boys her knickers." This last was a lucky guess which turned out to be true, so she gained a reputation based on the few stories that came right. Most of the false ones were forgotten or unverifiable.

As her body developed she found alternative ways of gaining approval and attention. Working in the hostelry, her shift was always loosely tied at the top. She would bend from the waist to deliver the flagons of ale, revealing a long, luxurious view of her milky white breast. Occasionally the dark rim round the nipple would peek out as her shift fell forwards and a customer opposite would splutter into his drink (and hastily rearrange his lower garments).

By the time she reached 19 she was making up all sorts of unlikely things, how she saw Derek the parson's son kissing a pig, or how she could sing higher than anybody could hear: "Prove it" "Alright, listen ... hear that?" "Hear what?" "See, I told you you couldn't hear it"

She wasn't stupid, just a lying little bitch, no matter what Joe the plough boy said. This latest was typical. She'd suggested that Andrea – the only girl that came close for prettiness – had let her brother fuck her. She could be very basic when it suited. Of course it was untrue. All the girls were virgins, everybody knew that. But if Joe was going to flatten you, you stopped arguing.

A week later she went too far "The fairies told me my hair is spun gold, they showed me how to spin it to be gold thread." To which the expected response was to agree, her hair was a pure and shiny as spun gold. But a courtier heard and reported it, and the king finally came a calling. The king was credulous and cruel; not a welcome combination for his subjects, but here some of those subjects saw a way of getting their own back. When Sharon denied it, they all swore (truthfully) that they had heard her claim this.

"I need gold thread for my new robes. I am not a cruel man" not true at all "but I will have you exercise your skill for me. Do you understand?"

"But your majesty –"

"No! Get it done, no excuses. Failure is not an option. When you do it, you shall marry my son" Which seemed a good offer for a common peasant, except she couldn't turn hair into gold.

She was locked in the tower with a spinning wheel. The next morning nothing was to be seen of the expected gold. "Whhaaaat! You defy me? I WILL have your fairy skills. You have one more night and then you will feel my wrath" He took her hand "Use this for my benefit or see it mangled" The mangle was an instrument of his own devising, of which he was rather proud. Like a washing-day mangle, but with stone rollers, a person's hand was put in one side and the rollers turned one way and then the reverse. The bones were turned to powder and the flesh to mush. The hand that stole would not sin again. In this case the hand that refused to spin would have no chance to do it at all. Sharon went white at the thought of no longer being perfect the excruciating pain was a secondary consideration.

The door was locked and she was told she would not emerge until she had supplied the gold thread. Beside the window was the bed, in one corner was the piss pot and in another was the spinning wheel. On a little table sat bread and water. Sharon fell to the floor and wailed.

"Stop that unharmonious cat-scream"

Sharon looked up to see a small, very old and very ugly man.

"Are you my new gaoler?"

"Don't be a fool all your life. Do I look like a gaoler?" He was dressed all over in green; green shoes, hose, doublet and hat. His nose was warty, bent sideways and had hairs in abundance growing out; one she noticed had a small snot on it. He was not someone you wanted to feast your eyes on; unlike her to him.

"Well who then?"

In answer he plucked a hair from her head, sat at the spinning wheel and span a length of pure gold thread. "Answer enough?" And disappeared.

In the morning the king was delighted and angry. Delighted with the gold, angry that there was so little. "Work harder, make more!"

That night the ugly man reappeared "Do I have your attention?"

"Yes, yes, please, please make more gold thread for me!"

"It will cost you"

"If you can make gold, what can I pay you?" She looked into his rheumy, eyes. He licked his wrinkled lips and his eyes were no longer looking at her face. He was looking at her body. "Oh no! Not that!"

The old man vanished, leaving a small 'phut' sound lingering far longer than it should, like it was reverberating. There was a slight smell of eggs.

Morning dawned and the king was getting impatient. "Where is my frigging gold you worthless peasant?" Which seemed unfair and rude when spoken to a woman you thought could summon gold from nothing. "You have one more night to deliver and then both hands 'squish'; your mother's hands 'squash'; your brother's hands 'squush' and your father's hands 'smash'. He laughed uproariously at what he considered a clever joke – he was credulous, cruel, and really rather stupid. His courtiers laughed manically too; he was that kind of monarch.

That night the ugly vertically challenged individual appeared again. "Problems?"

"Okay, you have a deal, I will slee-, have se-, I will do what you want"

"That was yesterday, today the price has gone up"

"What? That's not fair"


"NO! Wait! What is the price?"

"Sex, and your first born. Trust me, you wouldn't want him anyway"

"No ... oh, wait ... I have no choice do I?"



"Spit on your hand and then shake" The gnomish being spat on his hand and held it out, she did the same. At that she began to head towards the bed; payment in advance was the usual approach in those days.

"No" said the little man "best to get started first. In any case" he continued, suddenly dropping his hose and revealing a flaccid, shrunken, wrinkled bit of flesh surmounting two leathery balls. "As you can see, you'll need to encourage me for a while" He plucked a hair from her head and began to spin gold thread. Gingerly she took the loose, sausage between two fingers and began to - "Stop!" he shouted "Not like that. Do it like you did it for your brother"

"How do you know?"

"When you mention 'faeries', they take an interest. We've been watching you"

"We? You don't look like what I expect a fairy to be"

"I'm a goblin, we're all faery folk. Notice the spelling you ignorant woman." Somehow even spoken the word faery came out different to the rather pedestrian fairy. But he was not a nice man, no doubt of that.

"Then you know I'm still a virgin, please, don't take that away from me"

"If you can suck your brother off for 10 doubloons, you can suck and fuck an old man spinning gold thread for you" As he said all this he stopped work and looked her. Reluctantly she knelt down and put the floppy head into her mouth. "Do it right, note! Lick the balls too"

She let her tongue slide over the leathery pouch and tasted the salty, mouldy, taste of old cum, sweat and just a hint of old man urine. She pushed down her disgust and began to lick them more, then take in more of the hanging, unerectile dick. As she licked and sucked, she noticed he worked faster and harder; she found that at least an encouragement to get more involved in sucking off this foul old dwarf; and then she noticed the floppiness beginning to recede.

.... There is more of this story ...

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Reluctant / Magic / Heterosexual / Fiction / Slow /