The Blue Light

"Late in the evening, when the King's daughter is asleep, you must fetch her out of her bed, and bring her here to wait upon me..." –"The Blue Light," The Brothers Grimm

Once upon a time...

That's usually how these things are supposed to begin, isn't it? I guess the story I'm about to tell is something like a fairytale. Only there's a lot more unsavory elements in my story than those Grimm fellows put in their version. The once upon a time for this story is right after the war. I can't remember which war to be frank; I've been in too many of them. Only reason that this one sticks out in my mind is that it was the last war I ever fought in. It was also the war I lost my left eye in. I wear a nice leather patch over it these days, but right after it happened, all I could do was tie a shred of old shirt over the wound and keep on fighting. When they found out that the hole that saber put in my head was probably going to kill me, I was discharged from His Majesty's army with no pay and nothing to my name but what I carried on my back. King Otto had no more use for a one-eyed soldier who was knocking at Death's door. His Highness had more important things to worry about, like the depleted state of his royal treasury.

There I was, kicked out on my ass without so much as a thank you for two decades of loyal service. I spent the last of my gold on a bottle and spent the next three days piss, out-of-my-mind drunk. I figured that if I was going to die, I might as well go out too soused to realize what was happening. The wound in my head took septic, and one drunken, feverish night I got it into my head to take a shortcut through the forest. I knew better than to do it. The trees stretched for miles in every direction and if I wandered off the track I would probably never find my way out. But I did it anyway, drunk and shivering with fever-cold in the summer heat. I don't know at what point I became really lost, but I think it was somewhere on the second day. I realized that the track had disappeared, but I kept pushing on, hardly aware of what I was doing. On the third day my food and water ran out. On the fourth my fever had grown so high that I started seeing bright images and shadows at the corners of my vision. On the fifth day I collapsed underneath an oak tree and knew that I would never take another step.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up tucked into a bed, as snug as you please rather than in Hell's atrium. I tried to sit up, but every muscle in my body felt coated in lead. I turned my head a bit and saw that I was in a tiny room with walls made of huge old logs. The air smelled slightly musty, but there was a window and it was open to let in a fragrant breeze. Next to the bed was a tiny table on which sat an earthenware pitcher full of water and a mug. I forced myself to sit up and drank right from the pitcher, the water dripping down my chin and catching in my beard. I realized that I was no longer wearing clothes, but the thought didn't give me pause. All I could think of was how incredible it felt to gulp down cold, clear, delicious water. I knew it would give me cramps in a minute, but it would be worth it just to have this moment of ravenous joy.

I drained the pitcher and then set it back down on the little table, bracing myself for the cramps. When they passed I began to look around the room with a bit more care. It was barren of furnishings apart from the bed, the table and a spindly wooden chair pushed up against the opposite wall. The door leading out was closed, but looked as if it could be easily broken down should that become necessary. I pushed the blankets away from my legs and set first one foot on the floor and then another, realizing as I did so how unsteady I was. After a few seconds I managed to balance myself and started staggering to the door. Before I could reach it, it was opened and a woman stepped into the room, holding a tray balanced on one hand. On it was set a bowl of stew, a loaf of fragrant white bread, and another earthen pitcher. The woman was middle aged and very tall, almost my height, and had long, long black hair that was piled up on top of her head in an elaborate twist. Her lips were crimson, her eyes slanted and so violent a blue that they were almost purple. She looked at me with a mixture of amusement and disdain, and I remembered that I was stark naked.

"You're up I see," she said.

"Yes," I said, "Who are you?"

"My name is Mirta." She was looking at me in a speculative way, her eyes traveling from one end of my body to the other. It made me feel like a hog being appraised by the butcher. I stood with my hands on my hips and let her have her look. I had nothing to be ashamed of. I have a soldier's body, and as long as you pay no mind to the scars, I happen to think it's a pretty damn good one. God also handsomely endowed me in a certain area, and it was on this place that Mirta's eyes rested the longest.

I felt the appendage in question starting to stiffen, but I willed it back down. I didn't want to show the lady that her stare was having an effect on me. "Why don't you put on some trousers?" she said, gesturing to the chair against the wall. My trousers, britches, and shirt lay neatly folded on it, cleaned and mended. I walked over and pulled on my britches, then my pants, feeling her eyes on me the whole time. Then I went and sat down on the edge of the bed, facing her.

"My name is Rolf, in case you were wondering." I said. "That stew for me?" I gestured to the tray. She handed it over to me, saying nothing, and I fell to. It had to have been at least a fortnight since I'd last had a decent meal, and I made short work of the stew, soaking up every last scrap of it with the bread. She'd brought more water as well, and I drank what felt like another gallon. I belched when I finished, and her nose wrinkled, but other than that she watched me eat without expression. I set the tray down on the floor and said, "I suppose I ought to thank you for saving my life."

"I was wondering when you would get to that," Mirta said, pursing her lips.

"What can I do to repay you?" I asked, thinking that I knew exactly what she would ask for. I had seen how long her eyes had rested on my cock. There certainly were worse things a man could be asked to do. She was a damn fine looking woman even in her middle age, all soft curves and large breasts, and plump red lips. I took a moment to imagine her on her knees with my cock sliding in and out from between those lips.

"I have some chores that need doing," she said. "The garden needs to be hoed. I need you to chop wood and then I'll need you to fetch something from the well."

My bravado deflated a bit. I was a little disappointed, I admit, but if she wanted me to do her housework in return for saving my life, I was game. I just would have preferred to thank her in a more personal way. "When do you want me to start?" I asked.

"You can start tomorrow. You don't look like you're quite up to hard work yet." She smirked. "I'll let you get some rest," she said, and then left the room without so much as a backwards glance. I shrugged and climbed back into bed. It's remarkable how much starvation and fever can take it out of you. Not to mention losing an eye. That's when it struck me. My eye hadn't so much as twinged since I'd woken up. I reached a hand up to touch my face and found that the rag I had used as a bandage had been replaced by a clean strip of thick black cloth. The skin beneath the bandage was still tender, but it was no longer hot to the touch and it no longer felt raw. How long had I been here? The thought nagged at me, but before I could pursue it further I was dragged into sleep.

I got woken up the next day by the door opening. Mirta walked in, once more bearing a laden try. This time it was porridge with honey and a mug of hot tea. When I had finished, my hostess took the tray from me and said, "I want you to start with the garden. Then do the firewood. I expect the piles outside the house to be fully stocked. After that you can tackle the well." I was sitting propped up in bed, half-naked, and she gave me another one of those speculative looks before turning on her heel and walking out of the room.

I got fully dressed and then left the little room for the first time. I discovered that I was in a large cottage made all of logs, with a stone hearth in the main room and a good many glass windows. When I went out the front door I discovered that the house was in a clearing bordered on every side by enormous shaggy trees. I had never seen trees so huge before and I thought that I had to be at the very center of the forest, far away from the path. At the edge of the clearing I caught sight of a tumbledown old well, but then my attention was seized by the state of the garden. It was a mess, choked with weeds and strewn with rocks. It would take hours to sort out, and then I still had the wood to deal with.

The garden took me all day. I finished just as the last rays of light were leaving the sky and dragged myself back into the house, more tired than I'd ever been in my life. Mirta stood in the main room, hands on her hips. "That took much longer than I had hoped," she said. "You'll have to stay another night and finish tomorrow."

I gave her a weary salute. All of my limbs felt like they'd just been run through a clothes wringer. "I'm sorry to have to impose upon your hospitality for another night, madam," I said, calling up my reserves of charm. I do possess quite a bit of it, but you don't often have much need of it as a soldier. "If there is anything I can do to make my stay less bothersome to you, please let me know." I gave her a look then, the kind of look I always give to ladies when I want to see them in my bed. She handed me a bowl of hearty stew and acted as if she hadn't noticed. I ate up and then went to bed, so tired that I fell asleep the moment my head touched the pillow.

When I woke up it was still dark and somebody was sucking my cock. I was so exhausted that I'm surprised even that could wake me, but I opened my eyes and saw Mirta crouched over me, her lips suctioned to my shaft, the bed sheets tangled around my feet. I groaned deep in my throat, half-convinced I was dreaming, and tried to move, but I realized that I couldn't. I became certain that this was a dream. Surely I would not feel this helpless paralysis if I were awake. Mirta damn near sucked me dry and there was not a thing I could do to either aid or hinder her. There were several times when I would have come, had Mirta not pulled away at the last second licking her lips and smiling at me like a devil. My limbs began to tremble. All of my being seemed to be concentrated in my cock. I had never wanted to come so bad in my entire life. Mirta seemed somehow to intuit this. She climbed up on the bed and straddled me, still fully clothed but with her skirts hoisted up around her waist. Her hand reached between us and grabbed me, positioning me at the entrance to her cunt and then she sat down on me, driving me inside her to the balls. I cried out at the hot tightness of her as she began to ride me in swift, brutal strokes. I felt her come around me twice in the space of five minutes but she made not a sound and the steady thrusting of her hips never faltered. I, meanwhile, was gasping and grunting, and making all sorts of undignified sounds, unable to control myself, but I still couldn't move a muscle.

Never had I been fucked with such precision. Mirta seemed to know just when to speed up and when to slow down, where to touch, where to lick. She also knew just when to stop short of sending me over the edge. She tormented me like that for what felt like hours, working me as if she was determined to take my very essence inside her. I could do nothing but lie beneath her and moan, paralyzed in a way I couldn't explain and only half-certain that I was having a vivid dream. I don't know how long it was before I came. All I know is that the climax robbed me of my senses and left me spent and panting for breath. My entire body went rigid and lights seemed to go on and off in my head, even though there were no lights in the room. My entire body slumped to the bed, muscles aching, more exhausted than I had ever been. I vaguely remember Mirta climbing off of me, of hearing the rustle of skirts as she adjusted herself and then the sound of the door opening and closing. I could not fight against slumber for long though, and a few seconds after the door clicked shut I fell into the deepest sleep I have ever known.

I woke up the next day sore and as spent as if I'd trekked across a desert during the night. I remembered my encounter with Mirta, but I couldn't be sure whether it had been reality or only a dream. The exhaustion I felt could just as easily be due to my toils in the garden as they could be the result of midnight ravishment. I elected to wait until I saw Mirta to make a final decision on the reality of what I had experienced last night. She barged in only a few minutes later bearing my breakfast on a tray, and not a glance betrayed that she had done anything other than send me to bed the previous night. I sat up, my muscles screaming at me, the left side of my head throbbing.

"You'll be chopping wood today," Mirta said, handing over the tray. "Judging from your performance yesterday, I doubt that you'll have time to get to the well, so you'll have to stay another night." Her eyes may have lit up a little bit then, but I couldn't be sure. I concentrated on my food and tried to flex a bit more life into my strained muscles. Another day's work was not going to do much to improve them. Mirta watched me in silence as I ate and when the tray was clean she took it from me and left the room.

I saw with some surprise that a new set of clothes had been laid out across the chair and got out of bed to inspect them. A pair of linen britches, faded trousers and a patched linen shirt, all of them looking worn but clean and perfectly serviceable. I was glad not to have to get back into the set of clothes I'd been wearing yesterday; they were stiff with sweat and a bit more pungent than I would have liked. I've always been a fastidious man if I have half the chance. After I got dressed I left the room and went in search of Mirta.

She was waiting just outside the front door, a brutal-looking axe held in one hand. I thought then that she must be stronger than she looked, because she was carrying the huge instrument as if it were nothing more than a bundle of papers. When she handed over the thing, I was even more surprised. It was far heavier than I would have believed.

"Start on the two fallen trees in back of the house. I want both of my wood piles full before you finish." Her lack of manners was beginning to get on my nerves. I'm a patient man, and this woman had just saved my life, but there is only so much I can take.

"What the hell is this made out of?" I asked, hefting the axe with some difficulty. "Lead?"

"The wood around here is tough," Mirta snapped.

"You'll need a heavy axe to chop it."

"Listen, madam," I said, finally losing my temper. "I am in your debt for saving my life, but would it be too much for me to ask that you treat me with a little respect?"

Her eyes narrowed. "If you don't want my help then you are free to go. I believe the main road through the forest is three days march from here. Then it's another five days along the road."

"I didn't mean to cause offense," I said, biting my tongue and knowing that staying in this woman's good graces was the only way to keep myself alive. I had no provisions with which to make the journey through the forest and she damn well knew it. My fate was dependent on what she decided to give to me.

"I expect you to be finished by sunset," Mirta said, and then she turned away from me and walked back into the house. I stared after her, a number of words springing to my lips. I ignored them and turned to the trees I was supposed to be dismembering. At the first swing of the axe, I discovered that Mirta hadn't been lying when she said that I would need something heavy to chop this wood. It was harder than any wood I had ever before chopped, and as unyielding as if the tree had been sitting in that glade for a thousand years. Maybe it had. By the time the sun had reached its zenith I was half-dead. The new shirt was plastered to my back with sweat. My limbs were trembling with the effort it took to heft the axe and my entire body ached from the relentless bite of the metal into the stone-like trunk. I have no idea how I managed to do it, but by the time it was full dark I had somehow filled both piles.

When I slid the last length of wood into place at the top of the second pile I threw the axe to the ground, swaying on my feet. Then I stumbled inside to find Mirta. She was at the hearth stirring a cauldron full of a fragrant stew, the smell of which made my mouth water the moment I stepped into the house. My stomach knotted with desperate hunger and I stumbled a little in my stride. I must have sweated half of my life away during the course of the day and Mirta hadn't bothered to bring me any food or water.

"There you are," she said, turning from the fire and regarding me with her hands on her hips. "You certainly took your time with that wood." A smirk was playing around her red lips. I have never been much of a man for giving into temper, but I would have gained a great deal of satisfaction from being able to smack that satisfied smile off of my hostess's plump little mouth. Instead, I contented myself with grunting. "When you finish with the well tomorrow, I will lend you some supplies," Mirta said, ladling some of the stew into a dish and thrusting it at me along with a tall mug of cool water. "Then you can be on your way." For some reason, I got the distinct impression that she was lying to me.

I looked at her for a long moment before answering, trying to read her expression, but her face was impassive. "I am eternally in your debt," I said, not troubling to keep the irony from my tone. Mirta's smile deepened around the edges and then she turned away from me, bustling over to the scullery to wash up some dishes. I wolfed down my stew, drained the mug of water dry, and by the time I had finished I could barely keep my eyes propped open. I put the dishes aside, and without even bothering to say goodnight to my hostess, I stumbled to my little room in the back of the house, collapsed on the bed, and fell into a sleep so deep it seemed only a shade from death.

Nonetheless, I was once more dragged out of my slumber only a few hours later by the all-consuming sensation of being well and truly fucked. I opened my eyes, tried to move, and discovered that I was pinned to the bed, every limp paralyzed. I fought against it, but I was powerless to do anything but watch as the shadowy figure of Mirta rode my cock in the darkness. The paralysis seemed to have affected my cock as well, for although I felt her come several times around me, I could not climax, no matter how much I wanted to. It was hours before she was finished having her way with me, or at least that's what it felt like. She climbed off of me and a groan tore from my throat. My cock stood out rigid from my body and I was shaking all over with the violence of my need for release. Still I couldn't move. The suspicion which had been growing in my mind, that Mirta was some kind of witch, a succubus or sorceress or other unnatural thing, was now a certainty. This was no dream. A spell had been cast upon me, robbing me of my ability to move and speak. The witch bent down and even in the dark I could see her smile as she lowered her lips.

Her mouth enfolded the head of my cock, her tongue toying with the tiny hole at the tip, and suddenly the paralysis was lifted. The orgasm erupted from deep within me, and my hips jerked upwards. Every nerve-ending was on fire. My entire life's essence felt as if it was fleeing my body through my cock. My seed shot down Mirta's throat and she drank it greedily, wrapping her strong arms around my thighs, her nails digging into my flesh and holding me in place so that she could capture every last drop of come. When it was finally over, I collapsed onto the bed, utterly spent, movement suddenly returned to me, my breathing coming in broken gasps. It took only moments for me to fall into the total blackness of sleep once more.