Landmark Spell
by LiteroCat
Copyright© 2025 by LiteroCat
Erotica Sex Story: Conflicted lovers seek help at a special landmark. She lied about exhibiting. [Based on a real couple I knew in the ‘80s.]
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Reluctant Heterosexual Fiction True Story Fairy Tale Magic Exhibitionism Masturbation Petting Public Sex ENF .
“Why don’t we go kiss the Blarney stone at Blarney Castle, Hazel?”
“In Ireland, Hank? Why?”
“Since that allegedly endows the kisser with the gift of great eloquence or skill. Something I lack when I try to tell you how much I love you. Hopefully, it will grant me a poet’s voice to prove how firmly linked we are. Maybe then you’ll say YES to my marriage proposal.”
“Well, Hank, it is on my bucket list. OK. Let’s go.” Maybe then I can tell him NO with eloquence.
After some days of stealthy research, Hazel stumbled upon a hidden myth about the Blarney stone. A Druid had put a special spell in the stone. The document also gave her a secret phrase to say that would activate the hidden glowing marker to kiss. She didn’t want to admit to him that she loved exposing herself to friends and strangers, that admission would be too embarrassing, but the spell might get Hank past his prudish and censoring attitude. If it didn’t work, that would be the end of them. Hazel had it translated and decided it would either strengthen or end Hank’s obsession with her and her clothing styles. In English, it said:
Strip nude to truth, no veil, no lie,
Kiss my limestone, let sorrow die.
Quarrels end, the rift is mixed —
By sacred touch, all love is fixed.
A month later, as the couple struggled to climb to the castle’s peak, they spotted a small alcove roped off from public access. Hank grabbed her hand and pulled her in. The surprising lush landscape seemed a brilliant flowing green from that altitude, as brilliant as the love light in his heart. They kissed with passion. When Hank paused and hesitated to comment on her severe crop top or flighty tennis skirt, Hazel read his disappointment and pushed away in anger. She ran back up the path with Hank scrambling to catch up.
Seeing flashes of her bare ass as she ran, he blushed as he tried to imagine which of her indecent thongs she chose to embarrass him. He caught her at the top, fourth in line.
Hank gasped, his shorts tented, he said, “Your White crop top and orange mini, with my green shorts, complement the Irish flag nicely. But you knew it would be windy up here, yet...”
“Oh Hank, don’t be such a prude. You often compliment my bonnie body, so why not show it off while I can? I don’t control the wind, so my clothes are at its mercy.” The tension hung in the air like a dense mist. Her wished-for free-spirited nature often clashed with Hank’s more reserved demeanor, and yet, she still felt drawn to his quiet nature and submissive presence. Sometimes, it felt like their differences grew as vast as the ocean.
He recognized her rationalization, yet spoke softly, concerned how any hint of criticism would set off her rage. “But you do control your choice of moderate clothing. Your crop top exposes the bottoms of your massive beautiful tits, but you dare not raise your arms or your nipples will swim into view. While your micro skirt shows off your shapely legs perfectly, I’m embarrassed for you, watching all these people seeing what you chose under it. The breeze gave us all a glimpse of your shapely, muscular, and flexing cheeks. I hoped you’d understand I’m not a prude or jealous.” This had grown from a sore point to a thorn in both their sides. He protected the alleged modesty she claimed, but he knew by observation that she’d lied about that. She protected her obsession to expose herself with “unavoidable accident” excuses.
“Let’s not argue now,” she said, extending a hand to him. “We came all this way to kiss the Blarney Stone. Let’s see if it truly holds the magic it’s famed to have.”
Hank recalled his extreme conflict every time he saw her tempting nipples exposed or her lusty camel toe blatantly visible in tight clothes or even heavy denim. His cock would throb as his blood pressure soared. Though he loved seeing her inviting pussy so clearly outlined while others also saw it, her violated modesty and taboo exposure aroused and embarrassed him for her. He knew better than accuse her of her lies and add defensiveness to her denials. The struggle within kept ripping him apart.
She preferred the thrill of exposing herself by “accident” and had planned a shocking surprise for her beau that day.
At the stone she said, “You go first, Hank. Lean over backward on the parapet’s edge while I hold your ankles.” She said nothing about the secret spell the rock hid.
Due to her rage, Hank cast a wary eye as they waited in line. “You know, when a man attempting to kiss the Blarney Stone fell to his death, investigation revealed it was murder.”
“Are you saying you don’t trust me, even with so many witnesses here?”
“No, dear Hazel. Just that there’s a real risk to life and limb, as participants are dangled bodily from the height.” Should I trust her? Yes. She loves me. With a small, hesitant smile, Hank accepted her hand, feeling the warmth and determination in her grip. Is this genuine?
With so many waiting, Hank felt rushed and hopped on the wall. Hazel held him firmly with both hands. As Hank leaned back and grabbed the safety bars, a wind blew Hazel’s tiny skirt up revealing bare skin to her waist, but he could only see the skirt flutter. His cock stiffened at the thought of so many strangers seeing her panties. Hank thought, Yes, she must have chosen a daring thong to goad me. Well, I’ll show I’m not a prude and won’t spoil her fun. I’ll say nothing. He felt a strange buzz on his lips as he kissed the stone and asked for the gift of blarney.
Climbing back up, he coughed, took a deep breath and in a sonorous voice began, “To be or not ... Just kidding. Yet, I did get light headed. Ready, my love?”
Looking prettier than ever, Hazel fluffed her red hair, blinked her bright green eyes, and flashed her brilliant smile at him, then hopped on the parapet showing off her toned swimmer’s thighs to everyone and kicked off her shoes. Hank was proud of her fitness and beauty.
Hazel’s mind swirled with thoughts of the secret she’d uncovered. Her late-night research had unearthed legends long forgotten — stories of spells woven into the fabric of the stone. She had memorized the incantation, convinced that it might bridge the gap between her desires and Hank’s composure.
Hoping the Blarney would help him convince her that he would support her obsession if she would only admit it, he held her ankles on his hips making her knees spread as she tipped back, inverted, and forcing her to expose herself. Though seeing her bare shaved pussy shocked him, he held on. Hazel saw hope in that act. Even without a breeze, her crop top flew up to her chin fully exposing her shapely and bountiful boobs; her mini flipped onto her flat abs. Happily admitting her desire without an admission, she called out “Surprise!” to him with a wide grin as he stared down at her naked body. The strangers behind him gathered to look past the parapet at the beauty in the buff. He sent her lower.
Hank blushed crimson. He stuttered to those around him as he struggled with polar thoughts and covered his eyes, as if burying his head in the sand, and nearly dropped her. He grabbed her feet again and fixated on her lovely bare tits and stiff nipples. Speechless yet hopeful, he stared into her beautiful, swollen, gaping pussy with a dozen strangers. She pulled her crop top off, released her orange micro skirt, and let them fall away as the spell demanded.
Her actions once again terribly conflicted Hank. The beauty of the gaping well-lit sight of her bald, lusty, moistening, most private of love spaces made his shorts swell. Frustrated and believing that her lies would continue, he said, “Now I see this will never succeed. Maybe I am a prude.” He released her ankles and walked away dejectedly, shoulders slumping, and feet dragging, he whispered in an unfamiliar voice, “The signal torch has burned its hour, and sputters as it dies.” Surprised at his foreign voice, he said, “Hey, the Blarney stone worked!”
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