Enchanted: Erotic Bedtime Stories for Women (23 page)

My husband knew nothing of my reasons for my bizarre request, and I kept them intentionally from him. I wanted everything to be a wonderful surprise.

I prepared for days. And even when all was arranged to the minutest detail I repeatedly delayed, for I confess that I was exceedingly nervous.

And then, one day, I was ready. It happened quite accidentally really. Out of curiosity, I had slipped on the blond wig I had purchased for this occasion and glanced at myself in the mirror. My heart instantly began to race. I actually had butterflies fluttering wildly in my stomach! Yes, I was most certainly ready.

I slowly and carefully applied the new makeup I had purchased. First, I spread the dark, seductive charcoal color around my eyes, which made them look much larger than they are. Then came the lipstick. It had been at least ten years since I had worn lipstick, but I was certain that I had never worn that particular shade of red. I couldn't stop myself from giggling as I applied it to my lips. I felt a little like a child, dressing up in someone else's clothes.

Next there were the stockings. It is hard to believe that women had to contend with those before pantyhose came along. But what a delightful feeling when you wear them without panties! Being exposed to the air like that. Nice. Again I couldn't suppress a giggle. I hoped I wasn't going to make a fool of myself by laughing through the entire event.

A drink would have helped, but I was determined to wait until the last minute and then have only one. I did not want to get tipsy, after all. I wanted all my senses to be acutely aware so that I would feel every single sensation as it came over me.

Once I had put on the wig, makeup and stockings, I was finished. It felt like a part of me was missing, for I was never the sort that was comfortable without clothing, but there was no turning back now.

Having that much decided, I stood wide-eyed before the mirror. The woman that stared back at me looked strangely vulnerable. She was beautiful, with that poignant, forlorn beauty that belongs to those women who humbly present themselves on lace and silken platters, dressing up as best they can, in the hopes that this will bring them love, fame, money or happiness. And I thought to myself,
Why, any woman can do this. It's as easy as buying a costume!
My bright-red lips smiled back at me.

Suddenly I remembered one last thing. I fished through the makeup until I located a brown liner pencil. Then, very carefully, I drew a cute little mole right above my lip. There. Perfect! I allowed myself one more nervous giggle.

As usual, my husband came home right on time. I hid myself in the shadows of our dining room until I should decide the moment was right. My heart pounded ridiculously in my breast. Was it my very own, familiar husband I was hiding from? He came through the front door, as always, calling my name. But on this occasion I didn't answer him. I wanted every single detail of this evening to be different, memorable.

He called out my name a second time. I heard him ascend the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. There was a shuffling sound upstairs as he called for me again, and then yet again. My heart was hammering painfully. I was almost afraid. It was a similar feeling to the one I had when playing hide and seek as a child.

I heard his footsteps on the stairs, this time descending. There was concern now present in his voice as he walked into the kitchen and again called out my name. Finally I stood up and slipped quietly into the living room. I stood inconspicuously alongside one wall in the large room.

In a few minutes he came into the living room and paused, scratching his head. I stood perfectly quiet and still as I watched him. After a moment he felt my presence. He turned his head precisely to where I stood frozen against the wall. Shock overtook his countenance. At first he did not even appear to recognize me.

I did not laugh, or even smile, for that matter. A new emotion was coming over me, stifling my earlier urges to giggle. I could hardly breathe while my husband stood gaping at me. But at last his confusion disassembled, and in both our eyes there was recognition. He knew me. And I knew him. He realized what I wanted him to do, and I, of course, had my script memorized.

He didn't say a word as he slowly walked toward me. His eyes traveled over me, missing nothing. A smile began to form upon his lips, but then just as quickly disappeared. As we stared into each other's eyes he was suddenly very serious.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked softly.

This almost brought tears to my eyes, but I quickly blinked them back. His love and concern were what I lived for, but tonight I wanted something else from him. We would go back to that afterwards. I resisted the urge to rush into his arms and tell him how much I loved him.

Instead I jerked my chin up haughtily and assumed an indifferent tone. "That's up to you," I replied, holding his gaze, and adding slickly, "And depends on how much money you have." It did not sound like my voice that was speaking.

"I've got plenty of money," he countered, playing along coolly. "And I heard you're the woman who will give me what I want."

"Why don't you tell me what you want, and then I'll tell you if I can help you or not," I said evenly.

"You know what I want," he replied simply. "It's what every man wants when he comes to you. They say it's your specialty."

"Yes," I confessed, trembling slightly. "I think I do know what you want."

"Let's not waste any more time then," he said, removing his clothes.

I paused for a moment, watching him undress. I could see the evidence of his excitement in his pants. I could not remember the last time I saw that. As I stared at him, I struggled for every breath, my heart raced so. At last he stood naked before me. He was fully aroused.

"Where would you like me?" I asked him, getting right down to business. That's what this was supposed to be to me, after all.

He looked around our living room like he was seeing it for the first time. Finally he pointed to a small, square ottoman, the kind used for resting one's feet. "Bend over that."

I sauntered by him to comply with his direction. As I passed him I handed him a small tube of lubricant. "For what you want, you'll need this," I said, trying desperately to appear casual. I did not like to wander from the original script too much, but I knew I would need something to ease the discomfort I was sure to experience with my first time.

I bent over the ottoman in the wanton manner I imagined that other woman having done, based on the information my husband had provided. In truth, I had practiced the position a number of times when I was alone, trying out various places throughout our living room, and each time it had left me trembling and expectant to be sprawled out in such a manner. My husband, meanwhile, was preparing himself with the lubricant I had given him. I waited, reveling in the strange sensations that accompanied the full exposure my position presented of me. I wondered what that other woman had felt on that memorable night so long ago. As for me, I had never been so strangely excited before.

Suddenly I felt my husband near me. He pushed me forward slightly, maneuvering me, I knew, so that I was in the exact position that she had been in. When I was settled like he wanted, my head and forearms rested on the floor, and my knees rested on the ottoman, spread wide apart. In this position my hips were forced impossibly high into the air and opened very wide.

Terror and manic excitement made me light-headed, giving me a dreamlike impression of those first few moments. But when I felt his hands grasping my hips in readiness for what was coming, I suddenly became acutely aware of everything around me. It seemed that all my senses were heightened, so that every detail appeared magnified and distinct.

I held my breath as I felt my husband's hardness pressing against my nether opening. My hips instinctively contracted, wanting to close and move forward to escape him. But both my position and his grasp on my hips would allow no such escape, and so I was obliged to remain still as he forced himself into me. In spite of my good intentions, I cried out.

My husband immediately stopped. He did not withdraw, but he held himself perfectly still where he was. There were tears of disappointment in my eyes. I had not expected that first, stinging pain.

But in the very next moment the sting began to subside. Even so, it was still terribly uncomfortable. Notwithstanding the pain and discomfort, I was still amazingly aroused. And I was far from ready to give up on the experience.

I can't stop now,
I thought.
I have come too far. Besides, if she could do it, I can too!

With renewed determination, I arched my back, pushing my hips upward and opening myself further to my husband. He groaned when I did this, and his fingers dug into my flesh. He advanced very slowly, carefully urging himself into me, and I could tell from his groans that he was using every bit of restraint he possessed to go slowly. Even so, I had to bite my lip to avoid crying out again.

But at last he was fully inside me. The combination of shock, excitement, and discomfort was like nothing I had ever experienced before. As I became accustomed to the discomfort, I almost felt disappointment, so exquisite had that aspect of the intimacy been for me.

He withdrew gradually and then once again pushed himself forward slowly. He was being very careful and gentle because it was me. But I did not want to be me tonight. I wanted to be her. If I were really going to feel what she felt, all this tenderness would have to go.

"Do you like it?" I asked my husband, as he continued to move in and out of me slowly.

"Yes," he moaned.

"Do you like mine as much as you liked hers?" I pressed.

"Better!"

I was getting used to him now. It was still terribly difficult but, in an odd way, that added to the excitement. I began to move my hips, clenching and unclenching them as I remembered him describing her as having done. "Is this the way she moved?" I purred, as my hips awkwardly learned the rhythm.

"Yes!"

"She liked it hard and fast, didn't she?" I continued, remembering what he had told me.

"Yes, she liked it hard and fast," he repeated in a low voice that was barely perceptible.

"Give it to me like that, too," I ordered. "I want it hard and fast!"

"Honey," he groaned. "I don't want to hurt you." But he increased his pace.

"You didn't care if you hurt her," I argued. I worked my hips faster.

"She was different," he said, barely aware of what he was saying.

"Pretend that I am her," I goaded. And all at once I began to say the things that she had said to him, exactly as I remembered him telling me.

"Harder," I cried, pumping my hips furiously, massaging him within me. "Yes, that's better…now you're getting your money's worth…" I was beyond the point where I cared what I did or how I appeared. It was as if I really was that other woman, working as hard as I could to please a total stranger for money. And my husband was as lost as I was. He pounded himself into me with a violence I had never known he possessed. I shamelessly reached between my legs and caressed myself.

"What am I?" I asked him suddenly, needing to hear the words.

"What?" he was nearly oblivious of his surroundings.

"Tell me what I am," I pleaded.

"You're my wife…sweetheart…my adorable wife," he was quickly becoming incoherent.

"No!" I rubbed myself more vigorously. I couldn't stop myself. "Tell me I am what she was," I whispered.

He groaned.

"Now…please," I begged, still clenching and unclenching myself around him as he moved in and out of me. He was panting noisily. It occurred to me that, even with so little practice, I was already as good, or better, than she had been at this.

"Whore" he muttered. And with that he let out a thunderous yell, thrusting himself all the way in to the base. I felt him quivering inside me. "Oh, you're such a sweet little whore!"

I closed my eyes and shuddered as one pleasurable wave after another rippled through me. And in that split second I felt the utter abandon and exquisite pleasure of being a wanton whore, but without any of the remorse or loneliness that she would likely have felt afterward.

Later, my husband clung to me even in his sleep, while I— too exhilarated to rest— recalled the night's events in minute detail. If I had not felt the telltale tenderness in my backside, I would not have believed I had actually done it. And as for my husband, I had never seen him so thoroughly shocked. But that was not his only response, and afterward, when he had taken me in his arms, he was trembling as violently as I was.

A smile of triumph spread over my lips as I snuggled against my husband's warm body. His arms instinctively tightened around me. I had managed to step outside the boundaries that for so long defined my existence, and with very pleasant results. In fact, one could say it was a complete success. Not only had I discovered a new pleasure, but in the process, I had managed to collect for myself a great boon from my husband's past. For there was no doubt in my mind that this new memory my husband and I had just created together replaced forever, in his mind, that other memory of so long ago.

And really, hadn't it been incredibly easy? Indeed, those women have nothing on any of us! Why, any lady can do what she does. It is simply a matter of changing one's appearance, just as the proverbial wolf who dons the sheep's clothing or, I suppose in this case, you might say the sheep who dons the wolves' clothing!

I shall most definitely take on the alluring role again. But I must remember to tread carefully…lest I lose my way back!

The Ugly Duckling

O
nce upon a time there lived a husband and wife who had five daughters. The four older daughters were exceptionally beautiful, but the youngest daughter was thought by comparison to be gangly and awkward, with large bones and features that were less than perfect. Because of this, she was continually picked on by her sisters, and even her parents did little to conceal their disapproval of her, openly lamenting their ill luck in having such a child and wondering whether she would ever amount to anything. They all criticized the poor girl incessantly, saying such things as, "Perhaps if you ate less, you would be more petite," though she ate no more than any of the others, or, "If you rub lemons in your hair it would not be such a dull color." In truth, the unfortunate child went to bed hungry many a night and rubbed lemon after lemon into her hair, but nothing she did seemed to matter; there was always one thing or another that they would find wrong with her.