In the Enchanted Forest

In the Enchanted Forest

In the Enchanted Forest

Milla, whose real name was Camille when she was still a maid at the court of Queen Marie-Antoinette, is now a banished angel in the magical forest, the legendary forest of Brocéliande. Saint Peter had caught her in a minor transgression and condemned her to a few hundred years of exile in the enchanted forest near Douarnenez in Brittany; he could have clipped her wings or worse. But Saint Peter had become very old and very wise; he knew that the little banishment for this young angel was punishment enough.

When she was still a new arrival in Heaven, Department XXXVX, she came to Versailles fresh from the French royal court. She was one of the beautiful queen's intimate servants and if one of the queen's admirers wanted too aggressively to get into her underwear, Camille would step in, that was her job. Today she actually no longer knew what she was doing with each gentleman; these memories had been taken away from her at the gates of heaven. She entered the kingdom of heaven like an astonished child entering the room where the Christmas tree was. She got real, beautiful floor-length wings, snow-white, without the slightest flaw. The blemishes with which the wearer had stained herself could be recognized by the whiteness of the wing. The first male angel she ever saw was named Robert. Robert Bruce. And she politely introduced herself as Camille, Her Majesty's lady-in-waiting.

Robert was very, very friendly. He said he was from Scotland, he was someone there. She curtsied politely, but Robert, who was probably 30 years older than she, just laughed. "On earth, in Scotland, your court curtsy to the king would be appropriate, Camille. But here I am an ordinary angel, no longer a king." It was also he who taught her that here in heaven you only greeted and said goodbye with a kiss on the cheek. Milla had no memory of kissing him, but when his stubble tickled her cheeks, she laughed. Getting kisses felt good.

Milla asked him why he already had a few brown feathers on his wings. Robert looked puzzled; that was common knowledge. Nevertheless, she continued to look at him questioningly. "I smuggled a little of my sexuality through the gates of heaven, Milla, and sometimes this happened, sometimes that." Milla said she didn't know what sexuality was. Robert scratched his head of hair. "Oh, girl, here there are almost 6,000 female angels for every male angel, I said almost 6,000 female angels for every one angel, you can't help but slip occasionally if you know what I mean." Milla didn't understand what he meant, but nodded politely. She was a good angel, Camille, who came from the Queen's court and didn't know what a man was, except that he sometimes wanted to get into her underwear, that had been her job, to stand in for the Queen. But she didn't know that anymore either.

Robert, the Scottish angel with the brown spots on his wings, took her by the hand. He led them through the golden halls of heaven. The angelesses sat on banks of clouds and knitted or spun golden threads, but Robert drew them further, to a more remote part of the sky, where the clouds were thicker and there were fewer angels about. He sat down on a soft cloud and pulled Camille to him. "I have to show you, otherwise you'll never understand," he said, his voice deep and rough. He placed his hand on her breast, over the snow-white robe. Camille winced, it was a feeling she didn't know. Warmth spread from his hand, flooding her entire body. She felt her nipples harden, like little pins beneath the sheer veil.

"See?" Robert whispered, his fingers finding the tips of her teats. He kneaded her gently, but with a firm hand. Camille moaned softly. It was an inexplicable feeling, a mixture of shame and budding lust. "This is just the beginning, Camille," Robert said, his other hand going under her robe. He found her belly button, drawing circles around it as his lips sought her neck. He kissed her, not like the cheek kissing she knew, but with open lips, his tongue entering her mouth, exploring, dancing with her own. Camille was overwhelmed, her head was spinning, her heart was racing.

His hand moved lower, between her thighs. Camille was caught off guard when his fingers found the wet pussy lips. She screamed, but Robert held her tight. "It's okay, my angel, it's okay," he whispered. His fingers found her clit, the little treasure that even she didn't know about. He massaged her, rubbed her, and Camille felt a wave of pleasure rush through her body. She was shaking, moaning, her breath coming in short gasps. "Yes, that's good," Robert said, his fingers going deeper into her. He found her hymen, the little membrane that made her an untouched virgin.

But the sky watchers had heard them. Saint Peter himself appeared, his face dark. "Robert Bruce, you tried again!" he thundered. "You tried to seduce an innocent angeless!" Robert retreated hastily, straightening his robe. "She wanted it, Saint Peter, she asked for it!" he defended himself. But Peter was adamant. "You are a seducer, Robert, and you will be punished. You will receive another dark brown feather, you slave of your loins. And you, Camille, you will be banished to the enchanted forest near Douarnenez in Brittany. There you will learn what it means to be a good little angel."

Camille cried, but it was too late. Peter grabbed her hand and pulled her with him. They flew through the gates of heaven, down to earth. The enchanted forest was dark, mysterious, full of moss and old trees. Peter put her on the ground. “You will stay here until your punishment is over,” he said and disappeared. Camille was alone, an angel in the forest, exiled, with a premonition of lust in her heart and a longing for more.

The days in the enchanted forest were long and lonely. Camille wandered through the forest, ate berries, drank from the streams. But she felt empty, without the touch of a man, without the fulfillment she had sensed from Robert. She longed for him, for his touch, for his cock. One evening as she sat on the shore of a small lake, she heard a rustling in the bushes. A man stepped out, tall and slim, with dark hair and deep brown eyes. He was naked, his skin shining in the moonlight. Camille froze, but the man smiled. "I am Dianasson," he said, his voice like honey. "I am the lord of this forest, I am the hunter in the enchanted forest."

Camille stared at him, his body perfect, every muscle defined, his cock semi-erect, hanging limply over his thigh. She felt her vagina becoming moist and the desire building up inside her. "I'm Camille," she said, her voice shaking. Dianasson stepped closer, his hands finding her body. He took off her robe, letting it fall to the floor. Her snow-white wings spread, shimmering in the moonlight. "An angel," Dianasson whispered, his eyes shining. "I haven't had an angel here in a long time."

The days in the enchanted forest were no longer lonely. Dianasson was often with her, he showed her the secrets of the forest, the hidden springs, the glowing mushrooms and brought her animal meat and animal skins and furs, so that she would sleep softly upon them at night. He was a serious, clever man and taught them to talk to the birds and the animals. He never touched her like Robert Bruce; a kiss on the cheek was appropriate as a greeting and a farewell. Dianasson was also banished here by the magician Merlin because he had secretly mounted and mated the shy Queen Guinevère night after night while she was dreaming.

Dianasson said, "You are a beautiful, untouched angel, Camille. The last angel banished here was named Lucrezia Borgia — an old, withered crone. Her once-white wings were streaked with many brown and pitch-black feathers. Though she was ugly as night, she constantly wanted to be fucked, and she wrung me dry to the very last drop." Milla, who did not yet know the word "fucked," nodded amiably as if she understood. "Ah, so you had to lay with that Lucrezia Borgia, is that it?" and he nodded very dejectedly. Milla murmured that it was evidently important to mankind for men to lie down to the girls. He nodded again; that’s how it is. "Many years ago, I used to secretly lie with our Queen Guinevère every night; I would fuck her repeatedly and fill her deep with my seed while she lay in a profound slumber, dreaming of coupling, mating and fucking. The wizard Merlin grew furious at this and banished me here, allowing me to take only my youngest sister along to be my wife. Merlin married me to my thirteen-year-old sister according to ancient custom, and he smirked, for he had bewitched her so that an insatiable fire burned in her ass and an unquenchable volcano seethed in her cunt. He gave her to me as a parting gift — a horny little wife who would keep me on my toes, allowing me to gradually forget the beautiful Queen Guinevère. For that — honestly — I remain grateful to him to this day." He paused thoughtfully. "I see, Camilla; you are still untouched and surely have no desire to fuck, do you?" Milla shook her head, understanding nothing. Dianasson regarded her naked body with approval after removing the veil Saint Peter himself had wrapped around her hips. The hunter was very taken with the angel; she was nearly two meters tall, with a flawless physique and skin of beautiful, unblemished whiteness. She had lovely, full breasts, womanly rounded hips, and a fine, dark down above her cunt. He asked if she had ever lain with a man or an angel. She blushed.

"Yes, perhaps, Master Dianasson. Saint Peter sent me here because I had lain with my friend Sir Robert Bruce; like me, he is an angel, though an old one. Robert would have me lie down before him and spread my legs; then he would stare at my cunt, rub himself vigorously, and let his juices rain down upon Scotland like hail. That was something Saint Peter could not abide. That is why he merely banished me here instead of hacking off my wings." Dianasson nodded understandingly. "Don't be afraid, Camille; I certainly won't fuck you — is that okay?" Milla nodded, even though she didn't know exactly what fucking was. He continued, "I have plenty of women at home for fucking. My wife and my seven daughters — except for the youngest; she's still too young to be fucked." Milla was glad he had such a large family. He gave a rough laugh. "It’s a lot of work, though; it usually takes all day to properly fuck and impregnate my wife and our six daughters. After all, I’m the only man for miles around."

He asked if she would lie there as a model while he relieved himself. Milla nodded, a bit uncertainly. "Like with Sir Robert?" Dianasson nodded. "Yes, lie down here on the soft moss and spread your legs; I want to delight in the sight of your cunt and relieve myself, but I certainly won't fuck you. I promise." Milla still didn't know what the word "fucking" meant, but she lay down in the moss and let him look at her cunt. He brushed the downy hair aside, and his fingers parted her labia. Milla’s heart was pounding in her throat; Robert did exactly the same thing. Dianasson stared at her exposed cunt and rubbed his cock. Just like Robert, he pulled his foreskin all the way back until the little red tip emerged. Then he rubbed his cock for a good ten minutes; the tip touched her labia and danced upon them. "It tickles so nicely, Hunter Dianasson," Milla whispered, her cheeks flushed pink. But when he came, he didn’t aim his cock at the clouds to make it rain in Scotland; instead, his seed spurted over her labia and onto the moss. Milla found this game fascinating and truly beautiful. From then on, whenever he came by, they played this lovely game.

One day, she asked the hunter to explain the meaning of the word "fucking." Her eyes went wide and round as he described it to her in detail. "And do people do it because it’s fun, or because they want to make babies?" she asked. He nodded. "Both. It’s not just about the fun; that’s how Mother Nature ensures we have babies and don’t die out." Now Milla understood it all. She whispered, asking if he had ever fucked angels, too? He laughed and slapped his thighs. "Oh, Camille, of course I’ve fucked all the fallen angels — there must have been hundreds of them, some even over the course of many years. Except for the virgin angels; that was forbidden to me by the wicked Merlin. I never got to deflower a single virgin with snow-white wings." He added, "But only like can mate with like — dwarves with female dwarves, hunters with human girls and human women, and female angels with male angels. That way, there are no ugly hybrids; everyone keeps to their own kind. That is the divine order." At that moment, Milla decided she absolutely had to mate with the next male angel she met! Fucking — oh, how wonderful it sounded now! The hunter mated with his wife, his sister; not only did they have a tremendous amount of fun, but he also gave her babies. He mated with his six daughters; they all had a great time, and he gave them babies too. Milla closed her eyes and pictured it all in her imagination. Oh, how wonderful it was!

One morning, as Camille was wandering through the forest collecting edible mushrooms and berries, she found something. It was no animal, no wingless human like Dianasson. It was more like a bundle of rags, frozen rags. But it had a face and a big hooked nose and it was sleeping. Or was it dead? She listened and heard the faint sound of the heartbeat. So it was still alive. She grabbed it and ran to her driftwood hut. It was frozen, so she had to warm it up somehow. Behind their hut ran a stream fed by the volcano. At the very source the water was so hot that it burned your skin. If you walked just 100 meters it was still hot, but bearably hot. Another 100 meters further it was nice and warm, this was also the part where she bathed every morning. She put the bundle of rags in the water, half submerged it and took a few steps back; the little person in the bundle of rags was supposed to be thawed out. That was completely logical. She probably waded for an hour in knee-deep, hot water, just being careful not to submerge her nose, as she didn't want to drown. She looked around for help, but Dianasson was nowhere to be seen; he would have known what to do.

She noticed that the little person in the bundle of rags had opened his eyes, large, round, light blue eyes. She unpacked the whole face, it was obviously a small child, but somehow old, very old. It had no hair on its head, a large hooked nose and smooth skin. She wet his trembling blue lips with warm water on her fingers, she smiled because the little guy looked around, orienting himself.

"I'm Milla, actually Camille. I live here in the forest. And who are you?" And lo and behold, the lips were no longer blue, but deep pink. "I'm Jack, Jack van der Meer, from Pinguitoles. ".... can I live on or am I already dead?" Milla wondered about this question. It was these ice-cold, frozen rags that made him freeze to death. "If I take the rags off of you, you'll feel warm straight away, Jack from Pingui-Dingsda. Don't be ashamed of your nudity. little man. I can also tie some rabbit skins around you if you're cold." He nodded. "Please take away the rags, they carry a magical curse. "Yeah, the rabbit fur thing, that would be nice."

Milla realized it was the rags that kept making him cold. "I'm going to bathe you naked in the warm water for a while until you're really warmed up, Jack von Dingsda. Then we'll go to my hut, well, to the shed I cobbled together out of driftwood. There are plenty of hare skins and rabbit skins there. The hunter Dianasson sometimes brings them to me when he goes home from hunting to his family."

She peeled Jack out of the rags and threw them onto the bank, where they hissed into dust. The curse was lifted. She let little Jack float naked in the warm water for half an hour, she stroked the little naked boy with the big cock until he said he was warm now. They went to her hut and she picked out two rabbit skins for him. He wrapped it around his shoulders and was soon very happy.

Camille placed some pieces of wood in the stone circle, made the sign with her hand and the wood flamed up. So they sat comfortably around the campfire and she questioned him thoroughly. They sat facing each other, the crackling fire dancing between them, casting long shadows on the walls of the hut. Camille leaned forward, her face curious and open. "You have to tell me everything, Jack from Pinguitoles. Why did you end up here in the enchanted forest in rags that could freeze someone? Did you escape? Were you cast out?" Her eyes studied him, and there was not only curiosity in them, but also a spark of the old angelic lust she had learned in Dianasson. Jack was no god, no powerful forest spirit, but he was a man. A small, strange man, but a man anyway. She could see his bare arms beneath the furs, his skin was smooth, but there was a weariness in his eyes that seemed far beyond his age.

Jack sighed and pulled one of the furs closer around himself. The warmth of the fire seemed to return him bone by bone. "Pinguitoles... this is a village that you can't find if you look for it. It's a place for the... special people. For dwarfs, for witches, for those who don't fit into the normal world." He laughed bitterly. "A refuge that becomes a prison. My mother... she is a hunter. But not for deer, no. She hunts men. Rich, powerful men. She seduces them, takes their money, their power, their reputation and leaves them as broken husks. I was her tool, her little spy. With this nose," he poked his hooked nose, "I could smell every lie, sniff out every secret. With my..." he hesitated, "...with my special talent I was able to get men to do everything my mother wanted."

Camille nodded slowly. She didn't understand the game of power and seduction from the human world, but she knew the raw, animal attraction that one body could exert on another. "And the rags?" she asked gently, glancing at the shore where only dust remained from the cursed rags.

"A parting gift from my mother," Jack growled. "She betrayed me. Her latest victim was more powerful than she thought. He didn't break her. So she sacrificed me. She wrapped me in these rags that carry a cold curse and left me in the forest to freeze to death or be eaten by the wolves. A sacrifice to save her own skin. 'You've always been just a tool, Jack,' she said." He looked into the fire, and the light blue eyes seemed to glow for a moment. "But I'm not just a tool. And I won't die. Let her believe I'm dead. I'll hunt on my own, on shy and chaste women and their little daughters. They'll all cry and scream under the force of my cock." Milla looked at him with wide eyes, looked at his cock and, to be honest, didn't understand a word.

Camille felt a wave of compassion, but also something else. It was the excitement of the new, the unknown. This small, fragile-looking man had a strength within him that fascinated her. She stood up and sat next to him, so close that their thighs touched. "You are not alone, Jack van der Meer. You are here. And here," she stroked his cheek with a finger, "there are no mothers who sacrifice their children. Here there is only the forest, the animals, the hunter Dianasson... and me." She leaned in, her lips just a touch away from his. "And I, Jack, know how to drive away the cold. Not just with fire and furs."

Now Jack told her his life story as they roasted the mushrooms over the fire and ate them with berries. A delicious meal, all in all. "My mom is my mom, I won't say anything bad about her. She's a magician, she bewitched men, made them taste her body and then took all their money and power, pocketing it like a skilled thief. She trained me as a spy and I've been her lover since I was 12. I always pretended to be 18 or 19, but I'm only a skinny 16. When mom was having fun with the men, I did the same with his poor wife or his daughters, because I liked it very much and they loved my cock. And now Mama got the wrong person. I warned her that the guy was a fake, but she ignored my warning. He was the most powerful magician around and he gave her the choice: she or I had to put on the rags and freeze to death. That was his saying Heartbreaking, but she wouldn't trade her life for mine for anything in the world. So that magician left me in the forest to freeze to death in the curse of the rags. And you saved me, Milla. I'll thank you for that until the end of my life.

Camille stared at the naked gnome standing so confidently in front of her. His words echoed in her head, a mix of raw, dirty truth and a strange, almost absurd logic. "So your mom bewitches men and makes them do bad things to her body while she steals and robs it? And in the meantime you're having fun with their wives and daughters and your hose?" Jack stared at her in disbelief, yes for heaven's sake, did she really have no idea? "Yes, that's exactly how it is, the wives and daughters have a lot of fun with my hose, Milla!" Her gaze traveled from his hook-nosed face, to the strange hump on his shoulder, down to the thing he called his 'cock'. It dangled limply between his thighs, a good-sized wrinkled tube, nothing that she found particularly powerful or threatening. Male angels also had such tubes. And yet, his words had touched something inside her, a deep, forgotten switch.

"Fuck," she repeated the word quietly, as if tasting a strange, new mushroom. "So this is the most important thing? This is what makes your hearts race more than life itself?" She stood up, her snow-white wings spreading slightly as she leaned over the little gnome. Her fingers, delicate as spring petals, brushed his shoulder, gliding over the hump he so openly displayed. "And this... cunt, as you call it... it's just for a man to put his cock in? To make babies? That's all?" Her voice was a quiet whisper, but her eyes told a different story. They glowed with a new, hungry curiosity.

Jack nodded, a proud smile on his lips. "That's the beginning and the end, Milla. Everything else is just talk. My mother's power, the poor women's tears, it was all about fucking. About that one moment when a man loses all his reason because he only wants one thing: to fill her cunt with his seed." He grabbed himself, his little cock, and pulled at the skin. "See? He's small, but he's relentless. He knows what he wants. And he wants you, Milla. He wants to drive into your angel cunt and fill it to the brim with his juice."

Camille laughed, a deep, bell-like laugh that echoed through the forest. "You're a strange little man, Jack van der Meer. You talk about power and reason, but all I see is a little gnome playing with his own toys." But as she laughed, she felt the tingling sensation again. The moisture that pooled between her thighs, a warm, enticing scent filled her nose. It was the smell of the earth after the rain, the smell of Dianasson, but also something new, something... perverse. She knelt in front of him, her face level with his big cock. "So if fucking is so important, then show me, little gnome. Show me how your cock has the power to break a queen. Show me how it steals a poor woman's reason. Prove to me that your words are more than just the boasting of a little man with a big nose."

Jack said his nose could smell if a woman was ready to conceive. He didn't impregnate a single poor woman, that would be a disgrace for every married woman over 40. But he had already impregnated this one or that one of their little daughters, at least those who accepted it as a blessing from God. Camille pondered why it was a shame for one and a blessing for another.

Camille stared at his erect thing, which seemed somehow frightening up close. "No, Jack, I'm going to say NO to fucking, because now I'm sure that's what Saint Peter meant. Please don't think about fucking me anymore. I'm an angel and I can send fire from my fingers to the wood to keep the campfire burning merrily. But if I need to, I'll set you on fire, Jack of Point-Things. I'd have to burn you if you tried to force me to fuck you."

Jack nodded and pulled the rabbit fur back around his waist. But his cock didn't allow itself to be restricted, it burst out, it wanted to stick out its little head and look at the world curiously with its one eye, yes, that's what it was, his cock!

Jack grinned. "He won't give in, I'm afraid." Milla smiled at him. "Is there only fucking in this world, Jack? You fucked your mom, you fucked the poor wives and daughters while your mom hexed the fathers? And they in turn fucked your mom? All I hear is fucking, fucking and fucking, Jack."

Jack shook his head. "Of course not, there's something other than fucking, there's also jerking off, you stupid!" Milla looked at him wide-eyed, "Jerking off? What's that supposed to mean?"

Jack couldn't believe it. A real angel with real wings, a girl maybe 25 to 30 years old, and doesn't know anything? He called himself to order, to patience.

"Girls jerk off their clits and boys jerk off their cocks. But it's much nicer when you don't do it yourself, but when a girl does it to a boy or when a boy jerks off or licks a girl." Milla's eyes widened. "Licks? Like to lick icicles to drink the water?"

Jack nodded. "Yes, exactly. Only an icicle is ice cold, but the clit is hot, sizzling hot like mushrooms over a campfire."

Milla looked down at him curiously. "Are you saying that we angels have clit too? I've never heard of it."

Jack leaned forward, spread Milla's thighs a little and pushed his small hand inside, feeling her cunt. Milla's clit was exactly where it was supposed to be. He tapped it. "That, dear Milla, that's your clit . All right?" Milla looked at him with wide eyes. "That's exactly where it burned and bubbled when I was allowed to take Robert Bruce's cock in my hand, when I was allowed to take the Dianasson's cock in my hand, Jack." She listened to herself, listened to the voice of her clit, where Jack's finger was resting. “And you lick it like an icicle?” she finally asked.

Jack took his finger away again. "Milla, I'm not kidding. If you like, I can masturbate your clit very delicately. I can then lick your clit just as delicately as an icicle, and you will be thrilled. All you have to do is say it, all you have to do is wish it, and I will do it. But force it? No, I won't force you to do anything, I don't want you to set me on fire like firewood. — Damn it! Mama wanted to let me freeze to death, you want mercifully set me on fire — yes, do you stupid women only have destruction and murder in your hearts, in your souls?"

Milla stared into the burned-out campfire. "Jack, it's already night. Come on, let's go to sleep. I want to think about it. I want to think seriously about whether I should ask you. I'm irritated, upset and unsure. Let's go to sleep."

She went into the hut and lay down on the bed made of animal furs that the hunter had given her. Jack lay down very close to her; he had to press his body against her so as not to fall down.

"Milla, do you mind if I do it myself?" Milla was breathing very shallowly. "Okay, Jack, but please leave me out of it. What you do with your cock is your business and yours alone."

Jack nodded, even though she couldn't see it in the darkness of the cabin. A quiet “Thank you” escaped his lips. He moved his hand under his rabbit fur and found the hard, bulging shaft. He closed his eyes, thinking not of his mother, not of the poor women, but of the snow-white wings that glowed in the darkness next to him, of the warm, soft skin of the angel who lay so close to him. His hand began to work on himself, slowly and rhythmically, up and down. The sound was quiet, a wet, smacking sound in the stillness of the night. It was the sound of his loneliness, his greed.

Milla lay next to him, motionless. But she wasn't sleeping. Her eyes were wide, staring at the driftwood roof. The sound of Jack's hand on his cock filled the small cabin, reaching her ears, her soul. It was the sound of sin, the sound of what Saint Peter had forbidden. And yet... it awakened something within her. The tingling between her thighs returned, stronger than before. She felt a heat coming from within that threatened to consume her. Her hand twitched, wanting to satisfy herself, wanting to calm the pain that curiosity caused in her. But she held back. She was an angel. She had to stay pure.

Jack's breathing became faster, a soft moan accompanying the movements of his hand. He thought of Milla's wet cunt, her innocent look, the way she had tilted her head when he had mentioned 'licking'. He imagined his tongue sliding over her hot clit, her screaming in pleasure, her wings beating in time with his thrusts. His hand moved faster, harder, until his body stiffened. A small cry escaped his throat and he felt the hot juice shoot out of him, onto his rabbit fur, onto his hand. He shivered, a small, exhausted man in the dark.

Milla had heard everything. Every breath, every moan. She could feel the smell of his seed in the air, a salty, male scent that almost drove her crazy. She rolled over onto her other side, facing her back, and closed her eyes. She tried to think of her queen, of the court of Versailles, of the safety of the clouds. But all her thoughts revolved around the little gnome next to her, around his cock, around his promise. About the word 'licking'. She knew she wouldn't sleep. She knew she had to make a decision. And she knew that this decision would change her entire life.

After a while, when her tears subsided, she pulled back a little from his embrace. Her eyes were red and swollen in the dim light that filtered through the cracks in the hut. "I... I never knew such a thing existed, Jack. I always thought love was what you feel for the queen. A sacred, pure feeling. But this... this was different. This was... wild. This was real." She stroked his hump, a gesture that would have been unthinkable just a few hours ago.

Jack smiled softly. "That was just the beginning, Milla. Your clit was just giving away a little secret. It was showing you that you were a woman. A woman with needs. With hunger. And I just helped you taste a little of it." He took her hand, which was still shaking, and led it to his own. He placed her fingers on his already hardening cock. "See? He's hungry too. But he's patient. He waits until you're ready to discover the next secret."

Milla's fingers instinctively closed around his shaft. He was warm, alive, pulsating in her hand. She felt a new wave of heat rising within her, but this time it wasn't panic, but rather a growing curiosity. "And...what secret is that, Jack?" she whispered, her eyes locked on his.

Jack leaned forward, his lips brushing her ear. "The secret to licking, Milla. The secret to sucking an icicle hotter than any fire. The secret to melting a cock without burning it. But that... we'll show each other tomorrow. Tonight... tonight we'll just sleep. As friends." He pulled her close again, his arms wrapped around her, and for the first time since her banishment, Milla no longer felt lonely. She felt safe.

Milla wrapped her white arms around his neck and kissed him right on his lips. "Jack, for a moment I looked into my past. My queen had told the cavalier to lie down in the double bed, she would come right away. The queen loosened the straps of my dress, it fell to the floor and I was stark naked. The queen kissed me on the lips and pushed me a little. "You know, Camille, now you are the queen who lies down with the Count and is at his will." And I went in in the semi-darkness and made myself the gentleman I was at his will, and I think he even fucked me, again and again, until the first crow of the cock." She kissed his pointed ears. "Could this be true, or is it just a fantasy?" Jack didn't answer. He didn't know it either. "Yes, maybe you let yourself be fucked in the service of your queen. She wanted you to let yourself be fucked and you obeyed, you were happy to offer your cunt, it was for the queen, not for money or precious stones, you weren't a whore in the strict sense."

Milla cried for a long time, her arms around his neck, until they both fell asleep.

They slept almost until noon. Milla stared at his morning boner. Jack saw her look. "You're welcome to touch him, it's definitely not a sin!" Milla's hand came closer, her fingers finally encircling his cock. He explained to her that if you pulled back the foreskin you would see the glans, the central part, the counterpart to the clit . Milla nodded. "I remember the ratio according to Robert Bruce was 1 angel for every 6,000 angelesses. And I've seen it maybe half a dozen times where an angel would straddle the edge of a cloud, rub his cock wildly and let it rain down, maybe that was the hail on Earth." Jack laughed. "How about we go down to the sandy beach by the ocean and you make it rain on my cock?" Milla laughed. "Ha-ha! We're in the enchanted forest, not by the sea!" Jack looked at her. "But my big nose can smell the sea water, without a doubt." Milla became uncertain. "I've been here for a while, but I haven't seen the sea. It's true, the enchanted forest changes it's shape every night, but it leaves my hut next to the volcanic stream. Kindly." Jack wrapped the rabbit fur around his waist and stalked off. Milla followed him, floating over the forest floor. And sure enough, Jack's nose led them straight to the sandy beach.

And there was a bit of a stirring in her clitoris, too.