Chapter Eight: The Red Letter and The Monster in the Mountain.
I know...
Tales of love take turns for the worst. Bad people bring bad things like shadows and strange omens of apocalyptic events. But, what if?
What if the tale was about simply loving girl-cock and tentacles?
And so the Red Letter remained unopened. The Monster in the Mountain stayed asleep. Because, this tale took a turn towards a boy that felt much more like a girl. His name was Rinheil Verhausen, and he called himself Rin when he wore his mothers clothes out in town...
Chapter Eight: I Was Made Into An Anal Birthing Breeding Slut By Slimy Squid People!!
I felt more myself wearing a dress, I suppose. I grew my hair out at an early age and had women envious of its density and shine. I had the blondest hair in my village. Everyone knew me as Rin the Boy-slut, and I didn't care. I was the prettiest girl in town in my opinion.
"Going out in your mother's clothes again?" Grunted my father as I hugged a basket of flowers tight to my chest.
I sneered at him, of course. Mother didn't care if I wore her dresses and such. He was just, as a big burly man, obligated to make me feel bad for liking girly things. I was an alchemist. I liked flowers. I liked making potions and such. I was good with runes and very weak white magic.
And, with alchemy, I made makeup. I had special blends of colors I thought were the most lavish yet simple. My blush applied smoothly and felt clean. Using an old recipe I found in the library, I formulated an eyeliner that didn't run or smudge and wiped away cleanly with a deactivating essence that smelt of red lavender. The women of my village hated me, haha. They never bought my brand.
"Cursed, twisted boy magic, that one," they'd say.
Whatever. My brand was exported to the neighboring towns and the like. I made enough to keep at it. But, eventually I had hoped to have my own home somewhere else. I wanted a garden full of my favorite flora and herbs. I wanted to free myself from this place, this village that smelt of fish from the sea. This village of folk who thought boys shouldn't pick flowers and just fish like a man should.
Fucking bullshit village.
I packed up my bushel of flowers and headed to my little watchtower in the woods. It was an abandoned guard turret from an ancient war. I didn't know which war it was. My village was full of fishermen and housewives. The town library was incomplete. Nothing but fish stuff. Boring ... fish ... stuff.
I loved my little secret base. Ivy nearly covered the whole thing, stretching up and into each brick until it touched the tree tops. The inside, cluttered with shelves full of sun dried flowers and herbs. The scent was too otherworldly to explain. In the center, etched into the stone floor, was my Bonding of Ferdun rune. I used it to craft all of my essences and potions. I grinned at it with my eyes closed.
"Time to work," I said to myself.
As I set down the basket of flowers next to my work station, I caught a glimpse of myself in my mirror. Well I suppose I would always catch of glimpse of myself in that mirror since I put it there for that purpose. My body, so perfectly hourglass, soft and pale. I was indeed destined to wear a dress. I thought that every day, running my hands down my body to trace my shape. The tradition of which would always inevitably lead my hands to cupping my privates.
I didn't despise them. I thought they were adorable. Honestly, I thought that a female frame with male privates was rather attractive. My mind though...
I was indeed addicted to cock.
Large excessively veiny ones, uncut ones, small girly ones, even hairy ones too ... I didn't care. My mind always drifted to thinking about them that I'd waste a whole day's work touching myself and inserting slippery phallic things into my butt. Today perhaps? Only for a little bit? But that always rounded up to it just being the entire day. Oh, me.
And there was my fault, my unsurmountable barrier. I couldn't ever, for the love of the ever luminous goddess of light, have sex with a man. I would be forever stuck with myself for the remaining duration of my life. And, although I would always bring myself to the point just before having a real cock inside me, I was okay with never experiencing it. I was okay with myself. Being called a sissy, or a false whore, didn't matter.
I was Rin.
I was the virgin sissy girl-boy from a forgettable fishing village on the edge of the Kingdom of Litteuvania. Goddess save my soul and send me somewhere else.
If I could have retracted my wish to the goddess...
—
I would have asked to do it all over again in one of her twisted hells for eternity.
—
I decided to lay out in my garden and touch myself for the day. I know, such a pervert I was slipping my hand up my dress and under my panties to play with my little pretty penis. The scent of daisies and lavender sent me into another realm. I dreamt of ball gowns and tea parties with rich women with large cocks under their dresses. A tea party that eventually led to orgies while our husbands were busy doing whatever rich men do with horses and mallets and stuff. Just us girls and our absurdly smooth dicks with nothing else to do.
A pleasant dream.
I sighed out loud at my second little thing I had. I thoroughly enjoyed bringing myself to the brink of having an orgasm and then stopping myself. The entire day was spent in such a state. The longest I had gone without coming was whole month and a half. I had a journal full of little etch marks for every time I edged myself. The Book of Marks, I called it.
I felt that, even though coming felt amazing, I would much rather keep my dirty little thoughts going instead of bringing myself to sobriety. I'm a dirty little slut.
In my head, of course.
I mean, my anxiety about openly being a cock-whore always prevented me from, like, doing anything. I guess I was edging myself to edge myself in a shitty fuck-circle called reality. Oh well. I'll just look pretty then. I'll be a dress-maiden for a princess someday. I swear it on my father's soul.
