The Cruel Moon

The scarred cruel moon is glaring down of the starless sky. The vastness of wild grass and seldom round hills stretch in each direction, they go on and on forever. The world is silent, sleeping; a soft wind whispers lazily in the branches of the maple tree. It grows to the feet of a mound, it glitters with ghostly sparks of quartz. Beneath, sitting with her back to the stem is a woman, a young one, almost a girl.

You come closer, invisible, see her shoulders, long wavy hair, the fair skin, that is glowing like bright silver in the light of the full moon. Her dark nipples on the modest breasts, the slightly flaring hips, the black triangle. She blinks, her eyes are half closed, her arm draped over her side, the delicate fingers with unpainted fingernails rest on her thigh. Another blink and the darkness of her iris swallows the light as she wakes up. She doesn't see you, she blinks and looks to the mound towering nearby.

Faint music and hearty laughter, voices, there in the unsteady lights, are like the reflection of candles on wooden shutters. The world sleeps around her and you see her breast heavy with longing. She stands up, and you see the play of muscles in that gracious creature. You see her bottom, the full round globes, the steep curve of her back.

She carefully steps closer to the feast under the hill, her feet seeking out a path in the high grass. The scent of it, of the earth and the warm night fill you with heaviness, like being underwater.

And you follow her, see her naked legs working as she climbs the steep decline.

You are close, see a birthmark close to her spine and freeze as she slowly turns around.

The eyes are lost, dreamy, she doesn't see you, but follows the invisible path up and up...

There she steps over the rich colored tiles, sated with rust and gold and silver, she passes a long passageway lightened up by oil lamps distributing the scent of jasmine and roses. The naked body passes tapestry depicting hunts, dogs, ladies and knights, hunts and wars and weddings. She stares forwards, tugged along to the source of the voices, laughter and the music that is coming closer.

Then she enters the room, it's large, a hall, indeed. The crystal lights hang from the high ceiling. The walls are made of stone. Fireplaces breathe the heat and scent of burnt wood. A wine red carpet fills one half of the room, the other... There is a long board, enough to offer seats for a hundred guests, gushes with gilded wine flutes, bottles, bowls with fruit and hot and cold flesh, bread and cheese. Feasting upon it all, there are little men. Every one of them is wearing a green suit and high black boots, underneath they carry black vests with golden or silver patterns of plants over the white buttoned up shirts. The hair is golden or black, though their eyes are all as black as night. Mischievous, evil, laughing happily. They clasp their hands and jump up and call out, "The queen, the queen is there! We waited long enough!"

The unseen music sets in, and you see delicious goose bumps covering the girls breasts and neck, her arms... She smiles shyly and moves closer. Closer to the little men, who grow just as high as her chest, they surround her and take her hands and lead to the high chair in the middle of the table. There she sits, naked and smiling as their eyes feast on her breasts and the beautiful face. Wine, they bring her wine and a golden plate plenty with fruit and cold flesh snacks. She blinks and smiles and doesn't complain as they touch her shoulders and laugh.

Soon, the music changes, the flow of it quickens the blood of the small men. "Dancing with the queen!" they call and to the lush carpet they tug their naked young queen. They laugh and dance, turn her around and around and soon you see the curly hair between her legs glistering. Her nipples are hardening into pebbles. She still smiles dreamily as they

turn and whirl her. Their hands now touch her naked skin, the breasts, the stomach, the back. "Our graceful queen, dance with us!" they call. They whirl around her those little men, their eyes glittering up to her and she smiles down and laughs and there is her secret on her lips.

The sweat glistens on her skin, the heart beat dances in a small vein on her throat as the small men laugh and bow to her and call, "The queen, she needs her throne and wine!" And the throne they bring, a high wooden seat; they place it in front of the table. It is old and gray and has a polished look to it, centuries old. The music is silent now as are the small men as they lead their young queen to her throne. They watch her sit and gather around her as she smiles happily at them. Her fair arms come to lay on the armrests tiredly as two of the men approach carrying a big bottle made of the same wood as the throne.

"The queen is too tired, give her lovely wine!" There are green soft vines that grow suddenly out of the old dead wood. Fed by the young woman's sweat they wrap themselves around her wrists and ankles, holding them in firm loving embrace. Just a shadow of a question is now in her smile. They place the bottle to her lips and tilt it, "Taste it! It is just for you!" These lovely lips open and accept the sweetness and bitterness of the flood. Though, it is much, it escapes her lips, drips down onto the heaving breasts, the tummy, down to that wet dark triangle.

The little men laugh and clap their little hands, two of them bow to her breasts and licks and suckle on them, tasting that skin and wine. The others part her knees, bowing down to kiss her thighs. They laugh at her as she drinks and shivers, the eyes closed now, drinking in all that. As you look down, between those silken thighs you see the wood awakening by her wetness and the wine. She shivers, the men lift her slightly to see. There the wood, fed by her wetness grows, thick and gray, slick with her honey and his own; it enters her opening as does the other, smaller one, that slowly and firmly opens the girl's more secret hole. The nasty little men clap their hands, "Our lovely queen now mounted her throne finally!" They watch the wooden cocks move up and down, thickening, while they eat and drink and kiss their queens thighs and breasts.

The wine is gone and the darkhair bites her lip, the look of that lovely eyes lost and intense, a moan escapes her lips and the toes curl helplessly to the eyes of the little men. They are busy, bringing padded little silver paddles that fit their hands handsomely and they apply them on the tensing queens breasts. Spank the soft and firm flesh, let it dance as soon as the queen's breath becomes ragged and her toes curl again. She bites her lips and moans in sweet protest. The eyes hurt, but still, there is fire and again the rise begins anew as the throne continues to torture her before the eyes of all the present little men, spread to their joy and comment as it does.

There is that heavy wet glow to her sex as her lovely nakedness shifts and tenses needily, but there is no mercy from the little men, "Later, later, you serve us, before we serve you!" And when even the paddle doesn't help, her blush dark, her breasts red, her breath stopping, they free her. She blinks as if waking up to those evil black eyes, but they lead the queen to the board, the free place between the plates and flutes and lay her down on her back and bend her knees, such that her sex is open to their eyes and lips. They taste it as another lips caress sensitive tender breasts, tummy, throat and lips. The warm mouths on hers, urging the warm red lips to open to their breath and tongues. Small hands keep her hands off her, no touch for herself. And again the young woman helplessly moans, her eyes glazed. And again they laugh and use the paddles to apply them on her buttocs and breasts.

The next, they place a high chair before her, she is deeply sunk into a kiss as two of the small men part her thighs wider, the scent of their queen mixes with that of the precious burned wood. And there, the first of the small men mounts her. He pushes his cock into the naked girls pucker, impaling her with that thin, hard stick, pink and throbbing as the other men clasp their hands and laugh and play flute watching him fuck her. She buckles softly, her toes curl and she moans into the kissing mouth.

The paddle smacks into her sex, her breasts again, the small hands twist her nipples and play with them. The music plays again, the men talk and laugh, they eat and drink and dance, all the while she is tortured and mounted right there on the table. The moans are silenced by another cock among all the touches and kisses, it is pushed between the hot lips and starts to expand instantly. She can taste it now, blushed, lost as the golden pubic hair and the balls seemingly too big for this small body hit her forehead, let her smell him too.

And so it goes for hours, they tense and let the queen drink their seed, empty themselves into her bowels one after another. Then they pull up their pants and go dancing or eating, all the while appraising the lovely queen, while she gets slapped and bitten and fucked dripping wet on that table. But never, never was she allowed to touch herself, never there was release for that throbbing open sex, molested by paddle and lips and hands. Serving and served.

And you believe, or not, but they released her finally, let her sit back on the throne again, which impaled her pucker again. You could see it from her blushed face, the lost overwhelmed look of the dark eyes as she drank the wine and ate some fruit. All the while the small men appreased her and handled her with respect. But in the end, a flowing golden thread is bound around the slender neck, the tiredness of the morning sets in as she is tugged along on that very thread by one of the men. They smile and laugh happily as the queen is allowed to straddle the first of them, his cock standing upright and ready for her.

The lovely queen gasps and bites her lip and shudders as her naked form shakes to the core. She leans against the small man and shivers again, moves up and down, impales herself with feverish neediness for some lost moments till there is a loud cry and the small men clasp. There is semen shooting hot into her womb, his lips on her breasts. And then she is led to yet another man smiling up at her. Again she impales herself tight and hot onto him and cannot contain herself, then she cums again... and again and again. The lights go out by and by. The fair body is spasming again and again against those small green clad bodies. The lips open, the breath rugged, touched and kissed by yet another mouth.

And there she is, the eyes black, peeking under half closed lids. The body shimmers silvery on the warm flat stones and sturdy grass on top of the mound, curled on her side, the beautiful face calm. The moon shines cruelly on the dark skies. You wonder if she wakes or dreams. If she is in this halls again, kissing and dancing and being the queen for those little men forever.