Enchanted Teddy Bear
Copyright© 2025 by Chris X
Chapter 2
Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 2 - The young girls spend the summer with her grandmother gives her an enchanted teddy bear not aware with the bear is capable the girl will find out slowly.
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Fa/ft Reluctant BiSexual Fiction High Fantasy Paranormal Ghost Magic Dolls Incest Daughter Grand Parent AI Generated
“Oh, yes ... right there. Please, don’t stop.”
The whispered plea was not her own, yet it echoed from her very core. Susie’s back arched off the sun-warmed wooden floorboards of the attic, her fingers gripping the worn fur of the teddy bear pressed to her chest. A deep, resonant thrum seemed to emanate from the stuffed animal, a vibration that travelled up her arms and sank into her bones, settling in a low, insistent pulse between her legs. Her grandmother’s gift was anything but innocent.
The day had been perfect, a golden capstone on a summer of newfound freedom. At twenty-two, Susie had finally taken the chance to visit the grandmother she’d never known, finding in the sprawling, dusty city brownstone a sanctuary from her predictable life back home. Her parents meant well, but here, she was truly herself.
Grandma was a delightful surprise—whip-smart and permissive, with a mischievous glint in her eyes that suggested she knew far more about the world than she let on. That evening, as fireflies began to blink in the deepening twilight, Grandma called out from her porch rocker.
“Little Susie, come over here. I have something for you.”
Susie had bounded up the steps, her summer dress swishing around her thighs. “What is it, Grandma?”
With a soft smile, the older woman had produced a teddy bear from the basket beside her. It was an old thing, its brown velvet fur a little matted, one black eye button slightly loose. But it had a strange weight to it, a presence. “This is for you, my dear. For your dreams. He’s an old friend of mine. He makes the doorways ... clearer.”
Puzzled but touched, Susie had taken the bear. The moment her skin made contact, a jolt, warm and electric, shot up her arm. Grandma’s smile widened. “Go on upstairs, sweetie. Get ready for bed. See what awaits you.”
Now, lying in the center of the attic floor she’d claimed as her own private space, the bear’s magic—or whatever it was—was unleashing itself fully. The vibration grew more intense, a purr that was both sound and feeling. Susie’s skin prickled with heat. She felt a strange duality of awareness: the rough grain of the wood beneath her back and a soft, plush sensation against her palms.
She closed her eyes, and the world shifted.
Not the attic.
A studio, bathed in the warm, hazy light of late afternoon. Canvases leaned against white walls, the air thick with the scent of turpentine and oil paint. And in the center of the room, a man stood before an easel, his back to her, his focus absolute. He was shirtless, the muscles of his back and shoulders shifting and coiling with each deliberate stroke of his brush.
This was the “Academy of Work” the bear had whispered about. A place of artistic pursuit, of raw creation. And of raw desire.
The man—her fantasy, her manifestation—turned. His eyes, a deep, focused green, found hers. He didn’t look surprised to see her, lying on the model’s chaise lounge she now realized was beneath her. His gaze was an artist’s gaze, assessing, appreciating, and devouring. It travelled over the lines of her body, clad in a simple silk chemise that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
“Don’t move,” he said, his voice a low rumble that mirrored the bear’s vibration still humming against her real-world chest. “The light is perfect on you.”
In the attic, Susie’s breath hitched. Her hand, seemingly of its own volition, slipped from the bear’s back down her own body. Her fingertips brushed over the cotton of her nightshirt, tracing the curve of her breast. A sharp, sweet shock made her jolt. It felt real. In the studio, she saw her own hand move and saw the man’s eyes darken with interest as he watched her touch herself.
The connection was absolute. Sensation bled through the doorway the bear had opened.
The artist put down his brush and walked toward her. Each step was deliberate. In the attic, Susie’s other hand clutched the bear tighter, her hips giving a slight, involuntary roll against the empty air, seeking pressure, seeking friction. The empty, aching need was becoming unbearable.
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