The Tollkeeper (Fairy Tales Behaving Badly) (3 page)

He was already readying himself to leave, hoping to follow the path she had taken to search, when he caught sight of the straggly horse approaching, and his relief was great. Already he was unlatching the gate leading onto the bridge, fingers for the first time clumsy and unsure. The girl was soaked to the skin, shivering against the night air, and her poor horse was faring no better, skidding and stumbling a little by the road.

Once the wagon had approached the gate she instead guided her horse to a large tree to keep it out of the rain, and climbed down. She turned to face him. Her clothes clung to her like second skin, her red hair plastered to her head like a doused flame. She was trembling.

“Your payment,” she whispered, holding out a small bag toward him.

“I do not want money from you,” he said harshly, “I want only your forgiveness, for my presumption.”

She shook her head, and continued to speak like she had not heard him. “This is for the three months where I had neglected to pay the bridge toll,” she said, her voice low. “But there is still the matter of the interest I owe, compounded over that time.”

“I do not want - “

“Would another kiss suffice?”

He froze. She gazed back at him fearfully, unsure if she had overstepped her bounds.

“Would you like another kiss?” she whispered. “If you feel that this does not cover the rest of what I owe, then what… what else would you like me to….”

He could have resisted her, could have forced her away, if he knew she was being compelled to obey him. But not like this. Not when she was soft and lush and, for all her naivety, eager.

He made himself speak, though it was no higher than a growl, as his desire built again. “Come here.”

She walked toward him with dainty, mincing steps, but with no hesitation. When she was near enough to touch, he pulled her to him, feasting hungrily at her mouth. He undid the unbecoming bun in her hair, allowing red locks to fall wild around her shoulders. He gathered a fistful of it up with his large hand, to keep her pressed against him. Her arms wrapped around his thick neck, allowing him to plunder her mouth with his tongue, a quick sound of surprise rising to her lips when he pushed her legs apart, his knee coming to rest in between, bending slightly. His other hand carried her easily, so that he could force her against his growing hardness, letting her sensitive little mound ride up against him, letting her feel just how much he wanted her.

He lifted her higher, bent his head so he could suckle at her breast through the wet cloth, and her moan was pleasure to his ears. His tongue teased at the hard nipple, causing her to arch her back against him.

“You owe me nothing, little one.” He said thickly, when he finally raised his head. “And you are still free to go, if you wish to. But if you choose to remain, know that I am going to do more than kiss you.”

“More than kiss me?” She whispered, looking dazed.

“I would kiss you here,” he licked at her breast again, and she gasped. “And I would kiss you in many other places. Like here,” his hand traced down her thighs, pressing against her folds, at the heat he could feel there. “Or here,” his hand moved toward her backside and squeezed, gently. She moaned. “Feel this, little one.” He took her own hands, nestled in his massive palm, and pressed it against his clothed cock. “I would do many things to you, and it will involve this. If you do not want it - if you do not want me - then you must leave, now, before I can no longer stop myself.”

Her hand gripped his length in response, and he groaned. Her touch was light at first, but soon grew bolder, running up and down his breeches, her gaze locked there in rapt fascination, at the large object hiding therein. If she had not answered his question with words, then she had already done so in action. The Mountain had lost, and there was no going back.

She gave a little squeak when he lifted her into his arms, carrying her past the bridge, down the steps leading into his warm stone house. They had barely made it through the doorway before he had her pinned against the wall, kissing her furiously. His hands gripped at her wet dress, tearing them in his haste to get at her body. She made little protest even when he ripped the worn fabric off of her, but she let out a cry of alarm and sought to hide her breasts from his view, blushing hard.

“No,” He growled. “Do not hide from me. I want to see all of you.”

She paused, then obeyed him. Her breasts were small and raised, rouge circling its tips. Wanting to know how they tasted without her gown in his way, the Mountain leaned down and took nearly all of it in his mouth, stroking and laving at the sensitive nub. The girl threw her head back, her heady cries filling the room.

He peeled more of the gown off of her, revealing a flat, pale stomach, and then the lower juncture of her thighs, where red curls peeped out at him, inviting.

Her own hands explored him, but they were awkward and nervous, tugging futilely at his shirt, and then lower, at his breeches. He chuckled at her efforts, a low rumble against her neck that made her stop and shiver, before taking pity. He kicked his boots off. With one free hand, he undid his breeches, leaned back long enough so he could shrug out of his shirt, before returning to the swell of her breasts. He switched often, first nursing at the left tip, and then abandoning it to concentrate on the right, making her squirm. Her hands roamed his chest, raking across the thick tufts of hair there.

Her eyes widened when she took in his cock for the first time, as large and as intimidating as the rest of him. When he lowered her back down to take off the rest of his clothing, her hand brushed against it, running down its length with small fingers. The touch alone made him grunt in pleasure, his hips jerking toward her palm. She took this for encouragement, and wrapped her fingers around the center and squeezed gently. Her hand looked so tiny against his length, but there was no look of shame or embarrassment on her face the way she had about her own nakedness. She began to move her hand up and down his shaft, watching how he bucked against her, running over the swollen head before traveling back down.

He wanted to let her explore to her heart’s content, but wasn’t sure how long he could stand it before he had to take action. His breathing grew ragged when she stroked him more evenly, succeeding in drawing a long moan out of him when she squeezed again.

“Stop,” he said, hoarse.

Her mistake was looking back at him for approval, and her eyes widened at the fiery look in his gaze.

It was raining harder now, lightning flickering against the sky. In those quick flashes he loomed over her, hard muscles silhouetted against the twilight. For one minute, he rose like some silent stone statue above her - in the darkness, he was like a depiction of what the god Hephaestus should have been, had he been strong and tall instead of weak and lame.

And then the statue moved again, shifting back into mortal, and took her hand. He kissed her there, his rough stubble scraping pleasantly across her wrist as his mouth moved along her arm, gently pulling her into his embrace. He paused at the crook of her elbow and his tongue flicked out. He felt her shudder, at how sensitive that spot could be. He moved further up, nuzzling into her shoulder, then lifted her without warning, carrying her toward his bed - a simple cot he had built himself, large enough to suit his frame and stuffed generously with hay and peat. He kept her in his arms, stripping off the last of her clothes, before settling her down on the mattress.

He saw the slight fear on her face, the sudden realization of what he might do to her, and he responded by gently turning her over so she was on her stomach. His hands found her shoulders again, and began to knead the taut muscles there. She sighed into the bed, his big strong hands surprisingly gentle as he massaged her back, the anxiety slowly easing out of her with every movement.

By the time he had reached her legs she was sighing happily, her body limp. When he spread her thighs, she parted for him with little comment. She moaned softly when his fingers began to work her buttocks the way he had done her shoulders and back. But when his fingers grazed at that secret part of her, a wide thumb brushing past her tender little entrance, she gasped.

He was lowering his head before she could make another sound, or before she could move away. His mouth replaced his thumb, licking along the path of her tiny slit. Her thighs spread wider of her own volition, and the Mountain planted his wide, heavy tongue into her, parting her soft folds so he could work it deeper and savor her taste. She was pushing back, trying desperately to take more of him inside her, but this time it was the Mountain’s turn to resist, his large hands keeping her in place and preventing her from doing more. She was still prone on the bed, and only her buttocks were raised in the air, her legs spread as wide as they could go without falling over. Seeking to tease her, he withdrew, this time planting wet kisses somewhere higher, focusing on the hidden nub there and leaving her desperately empty. She whined her displeasure.

“No,” she gasped out. “Oh, Roland. Lower. Lower, please….”

He chuckled but complied, and his thick tongue was burrowing into her again. The red-haired girl did not hold back her cries, filling the small room with their intensity. He began to thrust in and out of her in controlled bursts. He knew she was swollen and sensitive, and he pushed the first of his fingers into her even as his tongue continued. She cried out in ecstasy, at the feeling of two long objects moving inside her, deep enough to evoke such pleasure, but shallow enough that her maidenhead remained intact.

He waited until she grew accustomed to this new intrusion, until her hips began to sway back and forth once more, entreating him to go deeper. He added a second finger, and her cunt walls squeezed him so hard he thought she would break them. She would be so tight around his cock, he thought. “Relax, little one,” he whispered, lifting his mouth from her delicious cunny and rising up so he was towering over her form. She was so small against him, the contrast now all too obvious. His fingers did not stop their shallow thrusting, even as he bent and whispered against her ear.

“There are two fingers inside you,” he murmured, and curved them inside her. “I shall add a third finger.” He felt her shudder, partly from fear and partly from excitement. “My cock will be bigger, and I want to prepare you as best as I can. Do you trust me, little one?”

“Yes,” she said brokenly, with barely a pause. “I trust you. Oh…!” She made an inaudible sound when he kept his word, a third finger pushing in where two had already felt like too much.

He waited till she adjusted to this new intrusion, her wetness making it easier for him to move in and out. When she had completely relaxed, he kissed her ear. “This is going to hurt, sweetheart,” he said hoarsely, bracing himself for the pain he was about to cause her. It would be better this way, to take her maidenhead in this manner rather than break her open with his immense cock. He could not promise to be gentle then, and she would have no respite. “I am sorry - if I can take this pain for you, I would.”

Her words made his throat constrict, at her sweetness and her faith in him. “I’ll take as much pain as you have to give me,” she whispered back, tilting her head to the side so she could kiss his face. “If it means I can be with you, like this, always. Always - “

She broke off with another cry, tried to keep it in when he drove his fingers into her quickly, taking her maidenhead with one swift movement. He kept still inside her, waiting until she could adjust to the tight, searing pain, though he continued to press against her inner walls, curving toward that one place inside that soon wracked her with pleasure, the pain burning away. He sought out that spot one more time, finding it when he saw her jerk up, rising nearly to her hands and knees at that jolt of pleasure.

He knew she was ready when her buttocks resumed their eager thrusts back at him, her hips gyrating against his and rubbing against the heavy balls near the base of his muscular thighs.

He withdrew only so he could turn her over, so he could see her face in the dimness. His fingers were wet with traces of her blood, and the sight only aroused him further, that he had taken from her what no other man ever could, humbled that she had chosen him for such honors. She raised her hips, clearly intending for this to continue, but he had other ideas.

Her eyes widened, and she stilled when she felt the heat of him pressing against her, rubbing against her moist entrance.

“It’s too big,” she whispered, lust and trepidation on her face.

“Yes,” he agreed. His cock was large and ugly and veined, its girth bigger than the fingers he’d pushed into her, almost as thick as his wrist.

“And you’re going to put it in me.”

“Yes.”

She whimpered. “You’re going to split me asunder.”

He pressed forward, and the heavy tip of his mushroom head began to push into her. “Yes,” he said, and began to work himself into her with a few short thrusts. He heard her intake of breath, watched her spread her legs further in a brave attempt to take more of him in. He took great care to be as gentle as he could, and kissed her to distract her from the large thing slowly gaining ground inside her, soldiering into her small cunt, already stretched nearly to its limits. She found his mouth like a starving man finds water, latching onto him and kissing him greedily, hands clasped to the back of his head. His tongue warred against hers even as he edged further inside, opening up her core until he had gone as deep as he could, the tip of his prick pressing against her innermost walls. He remained there for some time, waiting until she no longer clung to him in desperation, until she began to pant in frustration instead, shifting underneath him in an unconscious plea for him to move.