A Charmed Life
Chapter 1: The Capture
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, mt/ft, Fa/Fa, ft/ft, Mind Control, Romantic, Lesbian, Heterosexual, Historical, First, Masturbation, Body Modification, Porn Theatre, Transformation,
Desc: Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 1: The Capture - The life of a woman given a special gift which changed her entire existence. Youth ever-lasting with a need for semen. She recalls the night a mysterious stranger implanted her.
There are people of great merit and talent who live out their lives shunning their true potential. People with high intelligence or stunning beauty who actually hide their natural assets to embrace whatever benefits obscurity can afford them. Liz was one such person. Though adroit in intellect with a seemingly endless knowledge in a wide variety of subjects, she never chose to use her skill to advance herself professionally. Likewise, her very fit and curvaceous figure was obscured by a very drab and inconspicuous wardrobe while her elegantly chiseled face with lovely, wide blue eyes was hidden behind big, horned-rim glasses and loose strands of her thick reddish-brown hair. She was often chided by what little company she kept to step out from behind herself and flaunt her natural gifts, she remained resolutely loyal to her clandestine persona.
Liz left her bland, mundane job that evening with her usual diffident, subdued manner. That was the way she lived her life, very unobtrusive and discreet. She made it quite plain to everyone that she did not want any undue attention and she worked hard to keep it that way. To look at her one would wonder why she worked so hard to be unnoticeable. She was kind, considerate and likable but she kept her circle of close friends small and all of her relationships cordial but detached. In actuality, it was all a cover up. She had another life. A life she worked diligently to keep secret. It was a life that would bring devastating shame upon her if any of the most apparent facts were revealed and absolute danger if the entire truth were known. Regardless, it was a condition that necessitated regular remedy. Tonight she left her job with particular little fanfare to avoid delaying entanglements. Tonight she would not be going directly home.
Liz sought replenishment. Reinvigoration. Rejuvenation. It was a regular semi-monthly ritual she needed to partake in. It was pleasurable for her but involved enduring certain unsavory places and uncomfortable encounters that a lady should not put herself in, no matter how familiar the practice was to her or how dire her need.
When she finished work she drove far from her familiar territory and ventured to an area where she was sure not to meet anyone who might know or recognize her. The place she was going to was not completely new to her, but a place she took extra care in not frequenting twice within any eight-week period. After a fifty-five minute drive she arrived at her destination. The sign in front read ‘Wicked Wanda’s Pleasure Palace’ and beneath it ‘Adult books, Novelties, XXX Arcade’. It was a den for sexually starved and lonely men to exercise their unrequited longing, no place at all for an attractive, young auburn haired woman with a spotless and carefully guarded social reputation. As Liz approached she took notice of the number of cars in the parking lot before pulling into the lot of the abandoned motel on the far side of the book store. She parked her car and turned off the engine. There were not enough cars gathered yet. More important, it was still far too light out and she couldn’t stand the idea of being seen going into that place even if there were no chance of anyone she knew being in the area. The only car on the road was the one that had been behind her which pulled into the book store lot and parked on the far side. She knew more would come when it got dark.
She took the time to get ready and relax before she made her dash to the door. She took a black trench coat from the back seat and pulled around her shoulders and then plunged her arms into both the sleeves. Off came her glasses which she did not really need but had become a habit to wear. She checked the pockets for her essential supplies; a can of pepper spray, an envelope containing a few crisp five dollar bills, a damp wash cloth, and a small wooden wedge. She pulled a black stocking cap over her head and then tucked her long, wavy trusses up into it. Taking a last careful look around, she hiked up her skirt, arched to lift her rump from the car seat and then pushed her pantyhose and panties down past her knees in one swift motion. She kicked off her shoes and pulled the filmy material down and off of both feet, tossing the balled up bunch on the seat beside her.
Now, she would wait for the right time. In the fresh stillness, her mind wandered over the years, over her situation, over her need. She had been to worse places and had done much worse things to satisfy her hunger. She thought back and was amazed at how calloused she had become to all of this, toward all sexual things in general. Her mind finally came to rest on how it all started; how she was then; that night so long ago when her entire life changed.
Bess is what she was called then. Her mother had named her Elizabeth, after The Queen, for she was born on her coronation day. She worked as a house servant, a maid, indentured into the house of Lord Cabbot, the county liege and magistrate, to settle her father’s debts. She was a fetching young maiden and she caught the fancy of many a young townsmen as well as traveling merchants.
Her heart had belonged to a strong, handsome young man who had asked for her hand but lacked the money to buy out her servitude. After much discussion and many tears they had settled on his plan to seek his fortune overseas while she waited for him to return and free her.
Every night she walked down to the inn at the crossroads and watched for the arrival of the coach from Brighton; waiting for her love to come home. Every night she waited and every night she went home in bitter disappointment. Weeks passed. Months passed. Years passed and still no word from her love. Many men, young and old, wealthy and more wealthy asked for her hand and to buy out her debt. She would not hear of it. She waited resolutely for her young man to return to her.
As the years passed, her beauty slowly faded until nothing was left but a tired old woman. Likewise, all of her young woman anticipations had crumbled into old woman regrets. None the less, she continued her nightly vigil out of habit more than hope, the thought of forsaking it was maddening to her. She had emptied herself into her expectations and become a ghost haunting her own life. Children laughed at her for a fool. They taunted her and called her The Seaman’s Wife. She laughed at herself. She laughed until she cried. The promise of her youth and beauty had been wasted on a lost dream. Yet, she kept on with her nightly sentry in front of the inn. A victim of her own faith, diligence and love, she became the very portrait of sadness.
It was on that particular, fateful, moonlit night, she was making her way through town on her nightly watch for the coach when she saw a dark cloaked figure standing at the side of the market square. Bess thought it odd to encounter much of anyone in her nightly walk but this one was exceptionally strange. As Bess approached the square the figure turned to face her but did not move in any other way. Bess passed on the opposite side of the road, the figure stood silently, turning slowly to mark Bess’ passage. As Bess walked by she watched the figure. Under the hood, drawn low over the figure’s face, she could see only a dainty feminine chin and a small mouth smiling slightly as if in recognition.
Bess continued on toward the crossroads and tried not to trouble herself about the encounter. She glanced back to again take note of the solitary figure. To her surprise, the woman had quietly crossed the road and was now following. Bess doubled her pace, her mind pouring over what manner of being was behind her and what did she seek. As she reached the crossroads, she turned to look over her shoulder again and saw that the cloaked woman was gaining on her.
As she looked, she noted the woman’s carriage was so smooth and graceful she seemed to float above the ground, and her step was so light she made not a sound. It filled Bess’ heart with dread as the mysterious figure took on specter-like prowess. She hurried herself to a near trot, seeking the light and relative safety of the inn. Her imagination ran wild over the horrors and mystery of the dark. Each step she made became a struggle for her existence, every breath she took she feared to be her last. She broke into a full run, desperate to reach the inn. She felt as though claws and fangs were just inches behind her, ready to snatch away her life.
When she reached the lantern post in front of the inn she grasped it for support and protection and spun around to find the dark, phantom figure a mere 5 paces behind her, hovering in eerie silence amid the dim shadows.
“Who approaches? Speak thy bidding,” blurted Bess, unable to bridle her waxing fear!
The cloak parted. One pale, delicate hand raised in admonition while the other drew back the hood. “Courage, gentle heart,” said the woman in a soft, soothing voice. “I bear thee no malice.” Her manner and diction were that of gentry or at least one who passed among them. The opened cloak revealed a bodice of intricately embroidered silk, trimmed with the finest of French lace. Coils of light golden locks framed the face of a fair, young maiden with skin white as cream and smooth as porcelain, and cheeks glowing in a soft kiss of rose. “I would speak with thee this night,” she continued.
Bess’ fear gave way to relief in the presence of so fine a lady. “Thy pardon, m’ lady. ‘tis the late hour trying on an old woman’s mind,” she offered in her common, cockney brogue and then curtseyed, as was requisite. “At thy service.”
The young woman advanced a pace and coolly asked, “Art thou she who is named Bess, maid servant to The Lord Magistrate?”
“Aye, m’ lady,” Bess answered obligingly.
“‘tis thy habit to greet the coach by the inn every eve,” pressed the lady?
“Aye. I am here ... every night,” replied Bess. It was odd to be addressed so directly by a stranger but Bess deferred in light of the woman’s obvious station.
“Thou art she who bade farewell to her love nigh on many years ago,” continued the maiden, still advancing?
“Aye, again m’ lady,” Bess answered sadly.
“And thou art she who waits by the side of the road for his return these nigh on many years hence,” asked the maiden?
“Aye, m’ lady. How knowest thou my misfortunes,” Bess asked with a sob?
“Thy tale of woe forebears thee. Be comforted,” said the maiden, now standing toe to toe with Bess and placing a hand on her shoulder, “I bring thee a gift of great value.”
“O grace, what gift could this tired old woman value,” asked Bess in a sunken voice?
“A gift that would repair thy broken life. I would impart to thee a new life and lives many times fold,” said the enchanting young lady, her voice rising to a disturbingly sinister mirth.
“I beg thy pardon m’ lady but ‘tis folly. Surely thou jests with me,” said Bess, feeling uneasy with so strange a statement and the unnatural evil the notion implied.
“A gift of eternal life and beauty,” persisted the maiden, her face now but inches from Bess’. “I offer thee The Jharum and its many blessings.”
She brought her lips to Bess’ as for to kiss her. Horror stricken, Bess stepped back and into the road. “‘tis devilry! Thou art a witch,” accused Bess! Her eyes were wild with terror and backing further away she pointed a finger in warning. “Fie on thee, spirit! Be gone and let a good soul pass!” In a panic, Bess ran headlong down the road to escape the dreaded menace. She looked back toward the inn as she turned at the crossroads and saw the young woman advancing on her, cloak drawn, and gliding over the wayside in the same graceful, floating canter.
Bess’ heart raced as fear gripped her like never before. She ran now not just for her life but for her very soul. Passing the market square, she tripped on a loosened cobblestone and fell upon the road. As she gathered herself and rose to her feet she glanced back to see the lady in steadfast pursuit, cloak flying behind her and gaining fast. Bess redoubled her pace, darting around corners and through alleys, seeking the shortest way home and trying to evade the caped woman’s sight.
At last she arrived at her master’s courtyard and sought quick refuge. Her mind was in alarm and she expected the terrible specter to spring upon her at any instant. She ran to the open stable door and stumbled again, sprawling onto her back over the bed of straw. She was too weary to run any more and she lay still, hoping she was beyond danger. She caught her breath to stifle any sound and waited; too scared to move.
Then, absolute doom seized her. The dark shadow of a cloaked figure fell across her and blocked the moonlight shining through the doorway.
Without uttering a sound the elegant lady stepped lightly to Bess’ side, untied the cloak and then cast it off her shoulders. She sank slowly to her knees and placed a pacifying hand to Bess’ brow. “Fear not,” she whispered, “All will be well. Thou shalt feel no pain nor lose thy soul. ‘tis not witchcraft, ‘tis the opening of thine own being. Thou shalt have The Jharum. Thou shalt regain thy lost youth. Thou shalt know splendor like none other. Thy reward - a new life.”
The woman bent over Bess and kissed her forehead and then lightly kissed Bess’ lips. Bess remained frozen, resigning herself to her fate. The woman talked madness and Bess felt fear like damnation tearing her in two. Whatever ruin was to befall her, she hoped it would be over soon.
“Partake of me,” whispered the woman as she pressed her lips firmly to Bess’. The woman’s tongue parted Bess’ lips and entered her mouth. Almost instantly, warmth, strange yearnings, and a lurid awareness swept over Bess. She became immediately filled with a lust like she had never known. She felt for the first time all the wanton urges she had always shunned bursting upon her with a craving throughout her body.
She lifted her arms and wrapped them tightly around the woman’s neck. Strangely, this powerful new lust was driving her to pursue the promise of pleasure in this woman’s contact and she did not want her to escape. As soon as she did this, the woman’s hand began to stray to Bess’ dress. The hand began pulling the dress up higher and higher up Bess’ legs. She gathered Bess’ skirt and petticoats around her waist and then gently probed beneath her shift. Bess was too lost in the overwhelming passion to have any concern at all over sin or impropriety. She welcomed the encroachment with hearty joy. Bess felt the woman’s fingers lightly gliding up her thigh and coming to the edge of her nether region. The woman’s fingers expertly explored Bess’ parted flesh and then centered on the pleasurable button at the top of the cleft.
Bess’ hips began to roll and buck under the ministration of the stranger’s hand. Bess felt herself quickly climbing to that pinnacle of pleasure and then it hit her. The love-death - a climax. A sensation unknown to her in all of her life, a rapture that made her entire body sing with delight. Bess moaned as the sweet thrill overcame her. She knew more was to come but for now she would relax and enjoy the ensuing peace.
The woman then rose to her knees and started lifting her own dress. She pulled up her skirt, her kirtle and many fine linen petticoats. Bess watched her carefully to see what would now develop. When the lady had bared her womanhood, she stroked it briefly and then Bess heard a wet smacking sound. In the dim light she thought she saw something emerging from the woman’s cleft. It emerged and dangled like an eel and then it began to twist and writhe with a life of its own like a snake’s tail. Bess knew she must indeed be smitten by passion to not recoil in fear from so strange an appendage. She felt only slight curiosity and a hungry desire as the woman straddled her prone hips and squatted her sex directly over Bess’.
The woman looked deep into Bess’ eyes and with a playful smile said, “Dream.” Then she fell upon Bess with a tight embrace and another deep kiss. Bess gladly received it as the kiss wove more of its spell upon her. She gently sucked at the beautiful lady’s tongue like a babe at its mother’s breast. Bess became aware of a wet, finger-like tongue licking up and down the gap of her sex. Its touch was so deft and clever, giving the sweetest, most delightful attention to Bess’ sensitive flesh. She gladly parted her legs to give it more access. Its light tickle and the woman’s intoxicating kiss were again pushing Bess to that blessed extreme of pleasure. A crashing crescendo struck her again, causing her to moan in delight.
The snake-like tongue then surprised Bess with another of its talents. It dove into her flesh and gained access to her womb. As it entered her, Bess felt its girth widening, reaching resistance and then a sharp pain. At a ripe old age of fifty nine Bess had finally lost her virginity ... to another woman. The pain was brief and in her highly aroused state of mind it was of trivial notice. In an instant after that, Bess felt the queer tongue quickly reaching depths of her body a woman reserves for her beloved husband. Bess was only briefly startled before pleasure washed away all concern. She felt her inner passage completely filled with the delving invader. It massed itself at the very limit of her inner recesses and then she felt a tiny point groping inside, tickling its way around in her until it found passage into a yet deeper niche. It secreted something there and then gained an entry, Bess’ pleasure took on entirely new dimensions. Another climax was approaching, quicker than the last, sending her mind spinning. After it hit, its successor fell in behind.
The woman remained locked to her in a tight embrace, lightly stroking Bess’ cheek and softly cooing. Never before had she felt so possessed and cared for, it was the most beautiful feeling she had ever known. She let herself be bathed in this strange lady’s wiles and trusted herself completely to this woman’s will. Bess felt herself getting weaker and gradually losing consciousness. Deep pleasure, happiness, peace and then sleep with the most delightful dreams.