Introduction: Of Fairy Tales and Monsters

"What the devil are you on about, old man?"

The woman stood in the doorway in her sleeping gown, fisted hands on her hips, peering out into the darkness with a scowl on her face. Molly Farthing, she was, and not normally an unpleasant woman, nor even an unpleasant wife. But Mr. Farthing did challenge her patience, and often.

Molly hiked her sleeping gown up to her knees and stepped out the door and strode towards him. "Give me that," she demanded, reaching out to a bedsheet he held in his hands, preparing to rend it into strips.

"Step aside, woman," her husband barked, turning away to guard the bedsheet from her grasping hands. "I must needs a torch." He held the bedsheet up and began to tear a strip from it.

"A torch?" his wife nearly screeched. "And for what?"

"Monsters!" Jack Farthing answered her, to the sound of the tearing cloth.

"Monsters? Nonsense, I say!" was her retort.

"There's been monsters found in the old wolf pit," he answered. "Bother you not about it, woman. Go back to bed."

"And what sort of monsters are these supposed to be?" she asked, ignoring his demand. Mrs. Farthing was not the sort of woman to take commands.

"I haven't any idea what sort of monsters," Jack answered his disobedient wife. "Which is why I'm joining the villagers. For to investigate."

He finished tearing the sheet, retaining the strip he'd torn off of it, and handing the remains to her. The woman stared at the ruined bed sheet, incredulous. Her husband now shifted through a pile of wood and located a long, thick, club-like stick. He grimly admired his find, and then began wrapping the strip of cloth around the thicker end.

"Monsters, in the wolf pit," he repeated, almost as if he was trying to convince himself.

"I'm getting my shawl," his wife said.

"Whatever for?" he asked her.

"I'm coming with you, man."

"This is no place for a woman."

"Ha!" she barked at him. "Any place for a man, is a place for a woman, and twice the place. Men are apt to drink, and are foolish even when sober. Women have the common sense. I'll get my shawl."

"I'll not argue the point with you," her husband responded. "I haven't the time. If you're coming along, then hurry, woman. We must needs go."

"You haven't the time, haha! More like, you haven't a hope of winning the argument."

Despite her banter with her husband, Molly Farthing was known throughout the village as pleasant woman and a good wife. She worked hard to keep the house and stables in working orders, and the servants in their proper place. She had married above her station when she wed Jack Farthing, but she was young and beautiful then, and while time had taken its usual toll, she still had a pleasing look to her, and turned a head in the village on occasion. But good wife or not, she had given him only one child, and a girl at that.

The girl, Olivia of now fourteen years, appeared in the doorway in her sleeping smock. "What is it?" she asked, yawning. Her father did not answer, but pushed her to the side and proceeded indoors to the fireplace, where he dipped the cloth-covered end of his torch into a bucket of rended fat, swirled it for a moment, then thrust the fat-soaked cloth end of his torch into the burning embers of the fire.

"Monsters," he said to his daughter, as he watched his torch begin to burn. "In the old wolf pit."

His wife, standing in the doorway, scoffed. "Where did you hear such nonsense, Mr. Farthing?"

"Nat Pearson," he answered, emerging from the fire with the flaming torch in his hands.

"Nat Pearson?" his wife said. "Were you at the inn? And how many pints did the man have to drink when he told you this?"

"He was sober," the man answered. "Came running directly to summon us."

"Nat Pearson, sober?" his daughter laughed.

"Sure, Nat Pearson, sober," her mother joined their daughter in her banter. "And I'm the Blessed Virgin herself!"

"And my virginity is as much a fiction as Nat Pearson's sobriety!" Olivia added, much to her mother's amusement, and her father's grumbling unhappiness. He did not like being reminded that his daughter was known about the village as a slut.

"Back to bed with you, Olivia, and you too, woman. Latch the door behind me, this is no concern for women."

"A pack of drunk old men," his wife said, "running through the village with pitchforks and their torches a-lit, chasing down fairy tales? I'd say this is a concern for women!"

"Latch the door behind me, I say," the man commanded, and he strode out the door. "Now I must needs grab a pitchfork from the stable." His wife and daughter grabbed their shawls and followed him.

A few minutes later, the three of them joined the throng, a boisterous crowd of their fellow villagers some thirty people strong. Whatever creatures it was that were caught in the pit wouldn't last long; there were pitchforks and pikes aplenty amid the gathered men, who knew little about how to wield them but were nevertheless determined to have no trouble with beasts trapped in a giant hole. Their destination was an enormous pit just outside the tree line at the edge of the King's Woods, dug by villagers centuries before. The pit was thirty feet in length, fifteen in width, and ten in depth, with walls that were kept always maintained by village folk at a slightly inward angle, such that it would be impossible for any wolf to climb out, no matter how large an animal it might be, and how hard it might try to escape.

Molly and her husband, together with their daughter Olivia, arrived at the pit where another twenty of their neighbors had already gathered, shouting and waving torches in the air. A few were making jabs into the hole with their pikes. Among them the womenfolk elbowed their way to the front; Molly was hardly the only wife who felt her husband lacked the sense to deal with "monsters;" more likely, a lost sheep or two.

Molly herself was the first woman at the edge of the pit, she being a woman of some import in the village as the wife of Farmer Farthing, and well known among all, and especially among the womenfolk, for her common sense. She peered down into the torch-lit hole, and saw two pairs of eyes shining with the flickering flames back at her. They were not the eyes of sheep, nor of wolves. And neither were they the eyes of monsters. They were, as best she could tell, the eyes of fellow humans. And, she realized, they looked scared.

The creatures took a step towards Molly, perhaps attracted by her kindly demeanor. But a man standing near her jabbed aggressively at them with his pitchfork, and another, Drunk Danny Walton, tossed his torch at the creatures. They easily eluded it, but now were lit by the flames, and Molly suddenly understood both what these creatures were, and why the menfolk had branded them "monsters."

"They're children!" her daughter Olivia shouted, having worked her way next to her mother. "They're just children!"

For there, in the pit, were a boy and a girl, the boy not quite Olivia's age, the girl somewhat younger than the boy. They were both fair of hair, the girl's in long curls gone dirty in the wolf pit from eluding the jabbing pikes and pitchforks of the mob, and the boy's cropped short. Their eyes were large, and wide. They wore tunics of a sort not ever seen before in the village, at least not since the time of the Romans: white and once crisp, though now soiled and tattered, and tied about their waists with sashes of golden rope.

"Children?" another villager loudly scoffed. "Look at them! They are monsters!"

And this, he said, because the children's skin was strange. What precisely the color was, was difficult to tell in the torchlight, but it was immediately clear that these were not children as had ever been seen in the village before.

The villager jabbed his pitchfork in their direction, and the children retreated. Molly grabbed the handle of the pitchfork and twisted it to the side.

"Oh, stop it Walton, you old fool," she said. But at that moment a murmur came up among the crowd, as the sound of several horses' hooves attracted attention away from the children. Or, from the monsters. A stately looking man rode up, mounted on a large black horse and a sword swinging in a scabbard from his waist. Next to him rode a younger man, though similarly stately, and similarly armed. Along with the two were several mounted men carrying torches and lances.

"What is this commotion?" the older man demanded in a loud commanding voice.

Two dozen villagers began to shout replies, heavily laced with words like "monsters," and "freaks," though the women mostly said "children."

"Monsters?" The man and his son peered down from their horses, into the pit.

"They are only children, Henry," Molly's daughter Olivia said to the son, and the father gave her a glare that said, who is this common girl who addresses my son by his christened name?

"Strange children, though, Olivia," his son said, briefly looking at the girl, then back into the pit.

"If I might, Lord Barrington," the woman said, looking up at the older man high above her on his large horse. He nodded at her to continue.

"I'm Molly Farthing," she said, "wife of Jack Farthing there." She nodded in the direction of her husband. "We own the land at the slurry, to the east of the River Cwaugh."

The lord gave her a kindly smile. "We are neighbors," he said, "And I know your husband. Well met, m'lady."

"Yes, m'lord," she said with an awkward curtsy.

"Now tell me, Molly Farthing. What is happening here?" Then the lord lifted his head and spoke in a more commanding voice, "If only I can hear you over the din of this shouting mob." A murmur wafted through the assemblage, and they quieted.

"Sir," Mrs. Farthing said, making another awkward curtsy, "m'lord, these are strange children indeed, as your son so wisely spoke, and yet, they are children nonetheless."

Lord Barrington peered into the pit, and nodded in agreement.

"And if you'll call off this mob, I'd like to take them home, and offer them some food, and give them a bed to sleep in for the night."

The lord continued to peer into the pit. "You, children," he spoke in his commanding voice, "what are your names?"

The strange children only looked up at him, and did not reply.

"Humph," he made a disappointed grunt, then looked back at Molly again. "And you, Mrs. Farthing, you'll take these two strange children under your protection?"

"I will, m'lord," Molly answered.

"Where's your husband? What's his opinion of this."

"He agrees," Molly replied. "At least, he does, if he wishes to bed me again before he dies."

Hoots went up among the crowd, chiefly from the women, and Lord Barrington gave a chuckle himself. "Then it is decided." He gave his son a meaningful look, glancing beyond him to the farmer's daughter. She was a smart girl, and quite comely. He could see why his son admired her.

"Henry," he said to his son, "you and this girl--"

"Olivia," Olivia interjected.

"You and Olivia," the lord continued, bemused by her impertinent interruption, "help these children from the pit. As to the rest of you," he said to the assembled crowd, "disperse. I'll not have mobs like this in my fiefdom. Any man found outside after a half an hour has passed will be arrested."

And so begins the tale of the green children of the wolf pit. For their strange skin was indeed green, and they were strange in many other respects as well. They spoke a language full of words no man could recognize, and understood little about the customs of the village people. But they learned quickly, as children will, and within a week or two were dressed in normal clothes, and spoke the normal tongue with relative ease, and with the exception of their strange green skin and their odd wide eyes with accompanying odd wide cheekbones, they seemed like normal children of the village.

The boy was a strapping lad of twelve, tall for his age and strong, and took to helping his adopted father with his farming and his management of the plots let to the serfs, and villagers began to comment that Jack Farthing had found the son that Molly never gave him.

The girl, however, was stranger than her brother, less willing to help her adopted mother, more interested in the ways of the animals than in managing the servants in the house. And she was strange in other ways as well, gifted with insight unfamiliar among the villagers, especially in girls of only ten years old. And more than that, she had the skill of persuasion, especially with the village men, which the womenfolk attributed to her wide eyes and beguiling features. She was, indeed, widely agreed to be a beautiful child despite her strange skin, and while at her young age she had not yet began to enter womanhood, she often turned the heads of the men and boys of the village, nonetheless.

Chapter One: Esmeralda and Stephen

Esmeralda, as the green-skinned girl was called, knew that that her adopted sister Olivia would soon be entering the bedroom that the two girls shared together with Esmeralda's brother, Stephen. Olivia's arrival was known to the green-skinned girl even before her footsteps could be heard, indeed, even before Olivia herself had left her needlework on the bench in front of the fire. Before she'd even realized that she was going to climb the stairs and walk into their room.

How exactly Esmeralda knew this was not clear to her. But she knew it, all the same.

Even though she knew her sister was coming, she did not stop the activity she was currently engaged upon, and so it was that a minute later, when the door swung open, Olivia stood staring for a moment at the children, then burst out in a laugh as she quickly entered the room and closed the door behind her. The source of Olivia's merriment was the fact that the strange green-skinned girl was sitting on the bed, and her brother Stephen with the self-same skin was standing in front of her, and the boy's pants were at his knees, and Esmeralda was leaning into him, her mouth wrapped around his cock.

When the children didn't respond to Olivia's arrival in the room, except for the girl turning her strange wide eyes to look at her, the older girl walked over to them, and sat down on the bed.

"You might want to latch the door when you do this sort of thing," she said.

Esmeralda pulled away from her brother's cock. "Why?" she asked her adopted sister.

"What if mother or father were to walk in, like I just did?"

"Oh, that wouldn't be a problem," the strange green girl responded. "They do what we're doing. We saw them through the window last night. It's what gave us the idea to try it ourselves."

Olivia smiled at her little sister. "Yes, but..." She faltered at how exactly to explain to these strange children what it meant for an action to be wrong, and yet not wrong; to be private, and yet regularly talked about among friends and gossiped about at the pub and the parlor. She herself didn't quite understand the social complexities of the act; as a fourteen year old girl, for her, sex was still a mysterious and exciting thing in which she engaged clandestinely with the village men and boys. But unlike these children, she had enough sense to keep it secret.

Rather than attempt to explain this to her sister, she decided on another, more enjoyable approach. "Would you like me to show you how it's done?"

"Do I do it wrong?" the girl asked her older sister. "It is the first time we've done it, and we don't really know how. I'm just trying to do what we saw Mrs. Farthing do."

Olivia gave her a kind, big-sister smile. "A little wrong, yes," she said. "But that's okay. Here, I'll show you." She reached out to the boy's cock, and as she leaned in, her eyes went a little wide. Because, you see, he may be just a boy of twelve, but his cock was pleasingly thick and long, and his balls hung down distended like a man's. In fact, it was a more impressive cock than she'd seen on many of the village men, despite it's odd greenish hue. But she didn't mind the color. She was used to the children's skin now, and she found the color of the boy's cock intriguing. I wonder what it's like to get fucked by a green cock, she thought to herself, and giggled.

Concerned that the boy might think her giggle meant she she was making fun of him, she wrapped a hand around his shaft, and looked up at him, into his wide strange shining eyes.

"You have a big cock, Stephen," she said, squeezing him to feel his hardness through her hand. The boy looked down at his older sister and beamed at the compliment. She smiled, too; she had learned long ago how easy it was to make a man feel proud, and she decided to double-down. She lifted her other hand and wrapped it around his sack. "And nice big balls, too."

And then she leaned in, and opened wide, and took his head into her mouth. Immediately, the boy groaned, and he closed his eyes and began to rock his hips.

"You're so good at it!" Esmeralda said, her wide eyes even wider as she watched her sister work on their brother's cock.

Olivia looked over at the young girl, her eyes smiling, while she continued sucking and stroking.

"How did you learn to do it so well?" her little sister asked.

Olivia pulled off of Stephen's cock, her hand still wrapped around him in a fist, pumping up and down. "The parson taught me," she answered.

"The parson? Parson Wittmore?"

"Yes," the older girl said. "He taught me how to suck cock when I was younger than you."

"He did?"

"Yes, and he taught me other things, too."

"What other things?!?" Esmeralda asked.

"Hush now," Olivia said. "You don't want to attract the attention of our parents." She leaned in and began to suck on Stephen's cockhead again.

Esmeralda watched attentively for a moment. Then she said, "I'd like the parson to teach me, but I don't think he would. He says I'm a child of the devil."

Olivia gave a laugh, muffled by the cock in her mouth, then pulled off. "He says that about me all the time," she said, before going back down on Stephen.

Esmeralda was confused by that response from her older sister. "But you don't have green skin," she said. "Why would he say that you're a child of the devil?"

"It's not the color of the skin that concerns him. It's that our skin makes him horny."

"Horny?" the younger girl said. It was a word she had not yet learned.

"Yes, horny," Olivia said. "Like, you know, a bull."

"He grows horns like a bull?" a perplexed Esmeralda asked.

Olivia laughed. "No, it's just an expression. He doesn't grow actual horns. Well, maybe, one horn, between his legs!" She giggled and gave Stephen a demonstrative stroke. The young boy groaned in response. "But, he's not like a bull for the horns. He's horny like a bull because he wants to mount a girl."

This, Esmeralda understood; she'd seen bulls mounting cows. She found the notion of humans doing this to be fascinating.

"So the parson..." she said, "He's horny? He wants to mount girls?"

"Oh god yes," Esmeralda said. "He's the horniest man in the village. Now I gotta get to work, or your poor brother is never going to get to cum!" And the girl went back to sucking on Stephen's cock.

Chapter Two: The Parson

Esmeralda watched as a butterfly flitted across the road in front of her, shimmering iridescent blues and silvers. And she experienced, for a brief moment, an odd little feeling: Flowers, the feeling said. Flowers!

And then the feeling passed, just as the butterfly passed and disappeared into a field nearby, rising and diving with the breeze.

But the strange feeling was soon replaced by another, this time the echoing sound of a trowel, sinking into warm wet dirt, then the smell of the dirt as the trowel was twisted and the earth upended. This was such a vibrant feeling in Esmeralda's mind that she paused her walking to look around in an effort to locate the source of the vision. And as she stood, her mind filled with a cascade of thoughts: mundane thoughts about the dirt, about weeds in the garden, and then more interesting thoughts. Thoughts about girls, thoughts that said, I need a girl from the village. I should go get one, bring her back here, toss her on the bed. Which one should I choose? And then, all these cascading thoughts solidified into one: Ah, it's Esmeralda, the green-skinned girl, coming up the road.

The moment this thought filled Esmeralda's mind, she saw the parson ahead, kneeling in his garden, looking up at her. And also saw herself, on the path walking towards the garden. She saw herself through the eyes of the parson.

Interesting, Esmeralda thought to herself. And, "Hello, Parson Wittmore," she said out loud.

The parson clapped dirt from his hands, and stood. "Hello, Esmeralda. What brings you out this far from the village?"

"I have a question for you," the green-skinned girl said.

"Ah, a question," he replied.

"Yes," Esmeralda said, and repeated: "A question."

"And what might it be?" the parson asked. "Is it of theological significance? Shall I don my robe and meet you in the confessional?"

Not entirely sure what "theological significance" meant, the green-skinned girl answered, "I want to know why you call me a child of the devil."

The parson stood, looking at her for a moment. Then he turned and walked towards his cottage, to a gardening table against the outside wall. He washed his hands in a basin of water on the table, then picked up a towel and began to dry his hands as he turned to look at the girl again.

"You are a witch, are you not?" he said.

"A witch?" Esmeralda said. "I don't think I'm a witch."

"Look at you," Parson Wittmore said, his eyes gliding up and down her body, pausing at her bare knees before the hem of her skirt began; pausing again at her chest and her neck, where her blouse was partly open. Though she didn't entirely understand why, his stare made Esmeralda feel hot. "Look at your skin," he said, still staring. "You are a witch."

"But I have no magic," she answered. And then she remembered how she'd experienced the butterfly's thoughts, and saw the world through the parson's eyes, and thought, Perhaps I do have magic.

"You appeared from nowhere," he said. "You and your brother, in the wolf pit. From nowhere. Is that not magic?"

"It isn't, although..."

The parson tossed the towel on the worktable next to the wash basin. "And that is why you are a witch."

"And witches are children of the devil?" Esmeralda asked.

"Stands to reason, does it not?" the parson answered.

"Is Olivia a witch, too?"

"Olivia?" the parson asked. "Ah, your sister. Yes, she has her own witching ways." The parson seemed to lick his lips, as if remembering some pleasant thought, and suddenly Esmeralda's mind was flooded with a vision of her sister Olivia, seen from behind, on her hands and knees. Her skirt, in this vision, was pulled above her waist and her entire body was being forcefully pushed forward and pulled back by hands holding tightly onto her bare hips. The parson's hands, they were, Esmeralda realized, and her mind was filled with feeling of tightness, of something very sensitive driving into soft warmth flesh. And then, a feeling of pending release.

She smiled at the thought, recognizing what it was. "Olivia says that you taught her."

"Taught her? What does she claim that I taught her? She lies, you know."

"She doesn't lie," Esmeralda said. "I know when someone lies." And she gave the parson a knowing smile.

Parson Wittmore laughed. "So is this your real question for me, then? You want to know what I do with your sister?"

"No," Esmeralda answered. "I want you to do it with me, too. I want you to teach me."

A little smile formed on the parson's face, accompanied by a thought that flashed through Esmeralda's mind. I wonder what she's like, was the parson's thought. I wonder what it's like to fuck a little green-skinned witch.

"Why don't you come inside, Miss Witch," the parson said out loud, and opened the door to his cottage.

The parson's home was small. Much smaller than the Farthings'. Esmeralda had expected more, based on her Sunday morning experience of the faux-gold opulence of the nearby church. Perhaps not fancy, but at least ostentatious. But instead it was a tidy little place, with a small table and chairs to one side, a large and unlit fireplace where hung a pot and a kettle, and two chairs by the fireplace. One large window framed a view of the church across a field dancing with butterflies, and another looked out over the garden. A lone door, half ajar, led to the only other room in the cottage. The parson's bedroom, Esmeralda thought.

Parson Wittmore sat on one of the chairs by the fireplace, and invited Esmeralda to the other.

"What is it that you wish me to teach you, girl?" he asked.

Esmeralda sat down, took a deep breath, and allowed herself into the parson's mind again. Somehow, she could slip into his mind, quite easily in fact. And there she found him looking at her, up and down, from her feet and her calves, to the bottom of her skirt; her arms, her shoulders, her face. So pretty, his thoughts said. The skin is strange, but gives an other-worldly glow. And her hair is fair, her face is comely, her eyes a bright green like I have never seen before. She is a witch, no doubt. But I am sinner, and a terrible one, and so I shall have the little witch before the day is out.

"What you taught Olivia," she answered his question, giving no hint that she knew his thoughts.

"Well then," he said, and he stood. He took two steps to stand in front of her, he began unbuttoning his pants, and soon they were at his feet. His cock hung, long though limp, between his legs, a purplish red that Esmeralda found much less pleasant than her brother's green, and it was much hairier than her brother's, too. She was at once repulsed by the sight of it, and also intregued. It twitched as the parson reached down to it, and when he lifted the shaft, his hairy reddish ballsack was exposed. "This," he said, "is what I teach Olivia about. This is a cock."

Esmeralda laughed. "Yes, I am aware of what it is. I have a brother, you know."

"Your brother's a scrawny little boy," the parson said. "This is a man's cock."

"Oh, it's a fine cock," she said, remembering how Olivia had complimented Stephen's, and wanting to mimic her. "But my brother's cock is nice, too."

"You've seen your brother's cock?" Parson Wittmore asked the girl.

"Of course!" she answered, smiling.

The parson shook his head. "'Tis a sin, young lady, for you to look upon your brother's cock. But we'll discuss that further another time."

Still holding his cock with one hand, he reached behind her, and with a hand on the back of her head, pushed her forward. She followed his lead, leaning into him, but he stepped back, still pulling her forward and as she leaned toward him, she fell from the chair, and onto her knees. At that moment, his hand moved from the back of her head to her chin, where his thumb and finger pulled open her mouth. A moment later, the head of his cock, now thick and growing yet thicker, was in her mouth. With a fluid motion, his hand was behind her head again, and his fingers wrapped in her hair, and he pulled her head back. She felt the wide ridge of the crown of his cockhead pass though her lips, until only the tip was still in her mouth; and then he pushed her forward and her lips slipped over the crown as his head slid back into her mouth.

While the man continued pulling her off and pushing her onto his head, she felt his thoughts enter her mind. They were confusing -- at once a great groaning feeling of pleasure, and yet also a sharp stinging pain, followed by rising anger. Words were just beginning to form in his mind, but before he could speak them, before he could even think them, Esmeralda suddenly realized what was wrong. The stinging was from her teeth, dragging against the hyper-sensitive skin of his cockhead. Upon this realization, she instantly opened her mouth wide, and then she instantly felt his immediate relief. She heard, and felt, his groans, and then the parson said aloud, "Oh, fuck!"

Another groan, and another thought, barely formed, perhaps from his head, or perhaps from hers: Hand. Esmeralda remembered how Olivia had used her hand earlier that day when she was giving pleasure to their brother, and so she lifted her hand and wrapped it around his shaft, and mimicked what her sister had done.

"That's right, little witch," the parson moaned, "jack me!" Then another thought entered his, and Esmeralda's, head. This isn't her first time. The sinful little child has done this before. With whom? With Farthing? Has he fucked her, too? In a fit of anger and disappointment, he pushed Esmeralda's head down even further, his cock ramming against the back of her mouth.

"Has your daddy fucked you?" he seethed.

Esmeralda could not speak, with his cock rammed into her throat, but she answered in another way. No. You will be my first. I promise.

Parson Wittmore stepped back, and looked down at her with an expression of surprise. Of astonishment. His cock out of her mouth now, she left his mind behind. She herself was shocked that she had somehow filled the parson's mind with her own thoughts, and so, as if to go back in time and change what had happened, she said the words aloud: "No. You will be my first. I promise."

His look of shock dissipated with her words, as if he'd already forgotten the strangeness of the moment, and his anger dissipated as well. His face became kindly. "You probably need a break?" he said.

Esmeralda nodded.

"Young girls often do," he said. Then he lifted his shaft. "These are my balls," he said. "Do you know what balls are for, little witch?"

Esmeralda shook her head.

"They make the seed, that puts a baby in you."

"A baby?" Esmeralda said. She suddenly wanted to enter his mind again, to understand the confusing things that he was saying. But she resisted. She sensed that there was something dangerous about being inside his mind.

"Kiss them," he said to her. "Kiss my balls." Esmeralda looked up at him with her strange wide eyes, and leaned down, and kissed the man's hairy sack. "When I cum," he explained to her while the hair of his scrotum tickled her nose, "I shoot my seed into you. That is how a baby's made."

The girl had heard the word "cum" before; Olivia had said it, in reference to her brother. But she didn't know what it meant. "What does cum mean?" she asked.

"You'll find out soon enough what cum is, little witch," he said.

"And when you cum, you'll put a baby in me?"

"Oh no," the parson laughed at the girl's naivity. "I'll not be putting a baby in you. You are too young, you can't have a baby in you until you're older."

"Is Olivia old enough?" she asked.

"Yes, she is," he answered.

"My brother made cum, in Olivia's mouth, earlier today. Does that mean he put a baby in her?"

Parson Wittmore raised his eyebrows while he looked down at the girl. "Your brother came in Olivia's mouth today? She is good with her mouth," he said, "and enjoys using it. But to answer your question, no, you can't make a baby by cumming in a girl's mouth, nor in her ass. Only in her pussy. But don't worry, little witch. I can cum in your pussy, because you're too young to have a baby."

"Do you want to cum in my pussy?" Esmeralda asked the man.

"Yes," he answered, practically panting. "But first, get your mouth back on my cock. You've had enough of a break."

Esmeralda heard the parson groan as she took his head between her lips and wrapped her hands around his cock, and she started stroking and sucking his cock again. With the sound of his groan, she couldn't help herself, she didn't even mean to do it, but she fell into his mind again. She was suddenly overcome with a feeling of pent-up need, of explosive desire. Her own pussy instantly gushed as she learned the man's deepest and most intimate thoughts, and her own mind was filled with an overwhelming need for orgasm. Both his need, and hers.

"Oh, fuck!" the parson shouted, and Esmeralda's mind was now filled with one thought. One word. Cum! She felt a boiling sensation down between her legs, a sudden tightness followed by a long, sustained moment of suspension as together she and the parson waited for an excruciating, agonizing second. And then she felt his cock get thicker in her hands, and harder, and she felt him grab her head and shove himself deep into her mouth.

And then she felt it, deep between her legs, like a dam suddenly breaking. There was a sudden rush of liquid gushing out of her pussy and her whole body shook as she felt an explosion of sexual energy exit her body -- no, his body, the explosion was from parson's body! His body, but she experienced herself, from inside his mind.

Her mouth was instantly filled with a warm, sticky-thick liquid, and between her legs her pussy melted and her thighs were soaked. The parson was moaning aloud, "Little witch, you fucking little witch!" and she felt wave after wave of orgasm as the man kept pumping his cum into her mouth until there was no room for more, and yet more kept firing out, and she had to gulp it down.

Eventually, the parson pulled his cock out of her mouth, and then collapsed onto the nearby chair. His head was flung backwards, and he was breathing hard, and Esmeralda's mind was filled with new and satisfying emotions. Completion. Satisfaction.

Finally, having caught his breath, he looked at her. "You are a little witch, aren't you? You are a child of Satan."

Esmeralda smiled, and rose to her feet. "But you like it," she said.

"God yes," he panted in response.

"And now you want to fuck my pussy."

"I think..." he said, "I think I need a little break. That was..."

In response, Esmeralda walked towards him, lifting the bottom of her dress and reaching down and pulling her soaking underclothing down. Standing in front of him now, she lifted her dress to show him her pussy.

Oh my god, his thoughts filled her mind as he stared. So tiny, so smooth. And green. Oh my god, her little pussy is the same strange color as the rest of her body! Esmeralda felt growing hardness, growing thickness, between her legs, and as she felt these feelings she watched his cock growing again. She smiled. She knew, she felt, the hypnotic charm that her body had on the man, and she willed him to stand, to wrap his arms around her and kiss her, and then lift her into the air and carry her through the door, to his bedroom.

There he lay her on his bed, with an almost tender and affectionate effort. Wordlessly, he climbed on top of her, but though he spoke no words, Esmeralda knew his thoughts. They were primal, animalistic, almost unspeakable: Get inside her. Take the little witch's virginity, now. Ride her hard.

The green-skinned girl felt a sharp sting as the parson pressed his thick cockhead into her tiny opening, and she arched her back in pain. But she instantly understood that from his perspective, in his thoughts, arching her back was to him a sign of her sexual desire, of her acceptance of his entrance, and his thoughts flowed with aggression. The man growled and he shoved in hard, and Esmeralda cried out. Her mind filled with two thoughts simultaneously: pain, a tearing, rending pain! And an absolute need, an overpowering desire to be deep inside.

She closed her eyes, and forced herself to leave his mind. It was too much for her. She had to focus only on her own thoughts, to overcome the pain that his violation was causing. She did not want to know his thoughts now, she did not want to know how hard and how violent he wanted to be. And so she lay with her head to the side and tears streaming down her green cheeks as the man began to slide his cock in and out of her, tearing her open and then stretching her, stretching her tiny hole open beyond her ability to imagine would be possible, and in a few seconds, he was as deep inside her as he could be.

Eventually, the pain alleviated somewhat, and the tears ceased falling, and Esmeralda turned her head and looked at the parson. His face was red with exertion, but still he smiled down at her, a look that was almost tender, and he leaned down to her face, and kissed her. And she felt grateful for his sweetness, and glad that she was with him now.

She stayed out of his mind the entire time that they made love, enjoying her own thoughts now. For it felt wonderful. It felt wonderful to be so full, wonderful to have her pussy pulled and stretched wide open, wonderful to have something so large, so deep inside her.

She stayed out of his mind, that is, until he began to moan and she knew he was about to cum a second time. She wanted to feel his orgasm again, and so she fell into his thoughts, and felt that same amazing pressure, that same need for relief, and she felt him unleash his cum again. Her body communed with his and she felt the same release that he did, and she came as well, soaking his cock and his balls, and both of their thighs, as he unloaded inside her.

Chapter Three: Mr. Farthing

"Where were you today, young lady?" Mr. Farthing asked Esmeralda, as the family sat to sup around the table.

Across from Esmeralda, Olivia was attempting to send her subtle signals to tell her that should shouldn't answer. Esmeralda noticed the signals, but did not understand their significance, and so did not heed her sister's warning.

"I went to visit Parson Wittmore," she answered.

"Parson Wittmore?" Mrs. Farthing said. "Whatever for?"

Esmeralda noticed Olivia's waving her hand, just slightly, behind her bowl of soup. While she had no idea why the girl would not want her to talk about what happened at the parson's cottage, she at least now understood that she should not.

"I wanted to ask him why he calls me a child of the devil," she answered, truthfully, but obliquely.

"Oh, as to that," Mrs. Farthing said with a chuckle, "pay him no mind. He says that of all the women."

Everyone laughed, except for Mr. Farthing; Esmeralda could feel his eyes narrow as he stared at her. Esmeralda tried to slip into his mind, to know what it was he was thinking, but all that she found there was darkness, and it frightened her, and she left. She liked being inside the parson's mind much better than her father's.

When supper was done and the table cleaned, Esmeralda left the house through the back door to visit the privy, and when she had finished and stepped out of the little building, she was surprised to see Mr. Farthing standing in front of the door. She gave a curtsy and stepped to the side, assuming he was waiting for her to finish so that he could relieve himself. But instead, he reached out and grabbed her arm by the wrist.

Esmeralda was surprised by his actions, and her surprise turned into confusion and shock when the man stepped forward, his face right in front of hers, and twisted her arm behind her back, turning her and pushing her in the direction of the stable.

"I know what Parson Wittmore does to young girls," he hissed quietly into her ear as she stumbled in front of him. He kept her on her feet by lifting her wrist up behind her back even further, which sent a searing pain through her shoulder. She whimpered, but he didn't seem to notice, or at least he didn't care. He flung the door to the stable open and pushed her inside, then closed and barred the door.

"Father," Esmeralda said, "what...?"

"Quiet!" he said, and slapped her hard across the face. The young girl's big eyes went even wider, large wells of tears forming above her wide cheeks. "If you'll be the parson's whore--" He grabbed her around the waist, at her hips, with both of his large hands, and turned her so that her back was facing him. He pulled her in tight to him, wrapped his arms around her, and holding her tightly, forced her down onto her knees, then down further until she was lying on her stomach on the dirt floor of the stable, and he was on top of her. With the large man's full weight on her, she could not escape. She couldn't move; she could barely even breathe. His hands reached up her dress and yanked her underclothing down.

"If you'll be the parson's whore," he said again, "then you'll be my whore, too!"

Esmeralda felt Mr. Farthings' cock pushing into her, and in a desperate attempt to convince him to stop, or at least to be more gentle with her, she entered his mind. But again she found nothing but darkness and anger. Whatever rage the man felt had closed his mind to her. A moment later, his cock was deep inside her and he began rutting, shoving her into the dirt floor with each forward thrust. And as he thrust into her, he lay on top of her and she felt his breath, and smelled it, as he panted into her ear. It smelled of alcohol. The man was drunk. Perhaps that's why his mind was black to her? And so she closed her eyes and thought about the parson, and how wonderful it was to feel his feelings and think his thoughts, and tried to forget about her father as he lay on top of her.

Jack Farthing, known by most as an angry drunk, and known by his wife Molly as a particularly poor lover even when sober, lasted no more than a minute in his adopted daughter, before he grunted and Esmeralda felt herself fill with wetness, and she knew he had cum.

He stood up, shaking dirt off of his hands and onto her, and she rolled over, tears staining the dust on her face. "Why?"

"I told you, whore," he answered. "If you'll visit the parson, you'll visit me."

"You could have asked," she said, wiping the tears from her cheek. "I would have let you."

"I'm no parson, little whore," Mr. Farthing spat back at her. "I am a man of property. I do not ask. Now clean yourself up before you go into the house, I don't want Mrs. Farthing to suspect what we've just done."

When Esmeralda made her way on shaking knees back into the house, Mrs. Farthing was sitting at the fire, knitting needles clicking. She gave her daughter a smile, but when she noticed the dust on the front of the young girl's dress, she frowned, then moved her eyes to look in the direction of her husband sitting at the table with a large flagon of ale. He was sneering at the girl.

"What the hell have you been doing, young lady," her father said to her, "rolling in the pig sty? Get up to your room and get changed and wash that dress."

Esmeralda felt a flash of anger towards the man, and a sudden desire to tell her mother exactly what had happened. But she sensed that her mother knew. This she sensed without even entering the woman's mind. Women understand such things, she realized. They have an intuition about it.

And, indeed, Mrs. Farthing, who normally was not the most pleasant woman to have as a mother, gave another kindly smile to the girl, and stood. "I'll help you wash the dress, child," she said.

"Sit your fat arse down, Molly," her husband barked. "You'll do no such thing."

"And you'll shut your fat arse of a mouth, Mr. Farthing," she said, and took Esmeralda by the elbow and led her from the room.

While the woman helped the girl clean the dress, they did not discuss what had happened between her and Mr. Farthing. But Esmeralda had no doubt that the woman knew. And she marveled at what strange race of creatures humans are: So interested in sex, and so unwilling to discuss it. Unhappy, often, with their partners and the sex they have with them, but unable to understand how to make it better.

And so, while Molly Farthing and her adopted daughter cleaned her dress, Esmeralda promised to herself that she would do what was necessary to help this race of humans learn what the parson had taught her, and what he had taught Olivia as well. That sex is fun. It is something to be celebrated.

Chapter Four: Henry Barrington

Esmeralda was awoken in the middle of the night by the sound of a knock on their bedroom window, and she watched in the dark bluish glow of moonlight as her sister Olivia quietly climbed from her bed, tiptoed to the door, and latched the handle. She then tiptoed to the window and pulled it open, and peered out into the darkness.

Olivia whispered, "Shh...," to whomever it was outside, and Esmeralda's mind filled with the Olivia's emotions: excitement, both at the arrival of her paramour, and at their secretive, clandestine plan. And Esmeralda knew, even before the boy had began to climb into the room, who he was: Henry, son of Lord Barrington. Though Olivia had never mentioned Henry to Esmeralda, the younger girl had suspected, from the very first night that she and Stephen had arrived in the wolf pit, that Henry and Olivia had some sort of relationship. It made Esmeralda smile. She liked Henry, and he was an important person, and she felt it good for Olivia to have such a connection.

A moment later, the young man of sixteen stood in their room, dressed in finery the like of which was rarely seen in their village. And though Olivia wore only her dress smock, to Esmeralda she looked just as stunning as the lord's son, and she suspected that he felt the same. Olivia rose up onto her tip-toes and kissed Henry on the cheek, then took his hand and led him to her bed, whereupon she sat down and began to unfasten his trousers, and with no hesitation by either of them, his cock was quickly in her mouth. Though Esmeralda lay across the room in her own bed, her mouth began to salivate, her mind flooding with the sensations that Olivia felt as she beheld the cock: its earthy, masculine smell, the fleshy salty taste, the thickness of its head. Esmeralda felt herself began to get wet between her legs at the smell and the taste, and at the same time felt Olivia becoming wet as well. And although the younger one could not see the couple in the darkness, she felt the spittle leak from her older sister's mouth and drool down the boy's fine handsome cock.

She closed her eyes, and her mind drifted away from Olivia's, and soon was filled with Henry's feelings: pleasure, waves of heat coursing through his body as her sister plied her trade with the skill of an experienced girl. Esmeralda could not help but wonder if an inexperienced girl like herself could make the son of a lord feel so good. And she felt an overwhelming desire to try.

Henry let out an audible moan, and Olivia pulled off his cock, looked up at him and whispered a scratchy admonishing "Shh..." He stopped his sound, but not his thoughts: Olivia, oh god Olivia, I love your mouth! But I need your pussy. Please, please, let me fuck you tonight!

The boy's desire overwhelmed Esmeralda. You can fuck me, she thought. And suddenly the boy turned his head to look at her.

The green-skinned girl! he thought. Is she awake? Will she let me fuck her?

Yes, Esmeralda said into his mind. I will. And she slipped out of her bed and quietly walked across the room and sat down next to her sister.

Olivia pulled off of the boy's cock again. "Do you wish a turn, Esme?" she whispered to the younger girl. "Do you wish to show us how well the parson taught you to suck cock?"

"She'll do that," Henry said, putting his hands on Esmeralda's fair hair. "She'll do that, and more."

"What more do you wish her to do, Henry?" Olivia asked him as the boy pulled Esmeralda into him and she took his cock into her mouth. The taste was what she'd already experienced through Olivia's mind, but with an interesting addition. His cock now tasted like Olivia as well. She lifted her hand to his shaft and began to suck and stroke, and the boy moaned. "Shhh...!" Olivia admonished him again, and Esmeralda realized that even though she was inexperienced compared to her sister, indeed she could make the boy feel good.

Henry did not answer Olivia's question, at least not audibly; he gave only a soft groan. But his thoughts rang clear in Esmeralda's mind: I wish her to fuck me, to ride me. Now!

Ride you? Esmeralda asked, wordlessly.

"Yes, ride me, Esmeralda!" he said out loud, stepping away from her in his excitement.

"Yes! Ride him, Esme!" her sister agreed. "I'll show you how!"

Now Olivia took Henry by the hips, and turned him, and sat him down on the bed. She climbed on top of him, straddling his waist, and reached behind her between her legs and directed his cock into her pussy. Then she sat down, and Esmeralda watched him slip into her.

"Ooooh, god," the girl moaned, and the green-skinned girl ached with the feelings that her sister's mind cast into hers: the warmth of the young man's cock burning deep inside her, the feeling of her pussy lips parting open for him. And she ached also with the feelings that Henry's mind cast: the wet warmth of pussy, the tightness against the tip of his cockhead as he burrowed inside her sister. Then Olivia put her hands on Henry's chest and began to rock, and as Esmeralda watched, she understood that it was in fact exactly like her sister was riding the boy, and she wanted to do it herself.

And at that moment her brother Stephen, who had been awoken by the noise the two lovers were making, walked over to the bed. Esmeralda beckoned him to join the other two, and when he climbed onto the bed and lay down on his back, she pulled his sleeping gown above his cock and climbed on top of him. She reached down, as she had seen her sister do when she mounted Henry, and she felt his thick green cockhead part her lips as she sat down on him. She felt it digging into her, and she let out a high-pitched moan, and began to ride him like her sister was riding the lord's son next to them.

Olivia smiled over at her, then pulled her nightgown off over her head. Esmeralda did the same, so that the two girls were naked above the boys, and her sister reached her hand over to the younger girl and began to stroke her chest, her fingers slipping up and down the girl's greenish-pink nipples, causing them to stiffen excitedly. Esmeralda did the same to Olivia, feeling the older girl's warm womanly breasts, and feeling in her mind the electric sensations that her sister felt as Esmeralda's fingers pinched and rolled over her nipples.

The older girl leaned over to her little adopted sister and kissed her, and then the two of them played with each other's nipples and kissed and rode the cocks beneath them, a feat which proved to be rather difficult and often resulted in them giggling. Then Olivia said, "We should switch places now. I think Henry wants his cock in your pussy!" Esmeralda, for her part, knew exactly what Henry wanted right then. He wanted to cum, and, she knew, he didn't particularly care which of the two girls it was that brought him there. She knew as well what Stephen wanted, and it was the same. But she also knew what Olivia wanted, and she was surprised to learn that Olivia wanted her brother. Olivia wanted Stephen to cum inside her! And that made the young girl smile. She was glad that her sister had such an attachment to her brother, and she was happy both to be the girl that got Henry off, and to help her sister and her brother make their love together. So she climbed off of Stephen, and Olivia did the same to Henry.

And the green-skinned Esmeralda straddled Henry Barrington, the son of the lord of their land, reaching between her legs and grasping his large cock, and helped it find its way to her little green pussy slit. The young girl put her hands on Henry's chest and began to slowly lift herself on her knees, then sit back down, then lift herself again, feeling the thick cock of the teenage boy slowly work its way into her. She closed her eyes, and her own feeling of heat and fullness mixed with his of softness and wetness and warmth, and she felt the tightness of her pussy squeeze around his cockhead as it slid up and down inside her.

When she finally opened her eyes, after riding the boy for three minutes at least, she saw her sister riding Stephen next to them on the bed. Olivia smiled at her, and Esmeralda smiled back, and the two girls synchronized their motion as they rode their lovers together.

Esmeralda's mind was open now, and the emotions of all four of them flooded into her: The boys feeling the wetness of the girls' pussies and needing their relief, the girls feeling the hard thick fullness of the boys' cocks, and needing their relief as well. And without even thinking or realizing what she was doing, she began to transfer these emotions from one of them to the other, until all four of the lovers were filled with the knowledge of each other's carnal needs, and simultaneously all four of them began to orgasm, the boys bucking their hips against the girls, the girls slamming their hips down onto the boys. All thought of quietude was gone among them now, until finally both of the boys began to cum, and shot their seed into the girls.

Eventually, when the boys had finished, the girls fell from their mounts and collapsed onto the bed, all four of them in a sweaty, sticky mess of laughter.

Olivia kissed Esmeralda. "That was... oh god, that was so amazing! I've never felt anything like that before. Did you..." She looked at the girl, as if she was forming some sort of inexpressible thought, and Esmeralda didn't even need to meld into her sister's mind to know what she was thinking. But the younger girl only smiled in response. She herself was unaware of what she was doing, or how, but only that she could do it, and that it was the most fulfilling thing you could possibly do during sex.

"It was unbelievable," Henry said, smiling at Esmeralda with his new knowledge of her special, secret skill, and he stood. "I best leave now," he said, pulling his pants back on, "before your parents come. I think we may have awaken them."

The other children giggled, and then Esmeralda was suddenly overcome with a desire to kiss the boy goodbye, and so she stood as well, and rose onto her tip-toes in front of him, and kissed him on the lips.

He smiled, and his emotions filled her mind, and she could feel his heart racing. And then he slipped out the window, and was gone.

"Henry really likes you," Olivia said to her sister as Esmeralda sat down on the bed again.

"I think he does!"

"And you?" Olivia said. "You really like him, too. I can tell."

Esmeralda's green cheeks turned a shade of pink. "You like Stephen, too," she said.

Olivia smiled, looking from her sister to their brother. "I really do," she said. "And see how much he likes me?" She reached down between her legs and scooped some of Stephen's cum from her pussy, onto her finger. She held it up, and it shone in the moonlight.

"Does this mean that Stephen put his baby in you?" the younger girl asked. "That's what the parson says."

"Perhaps," the girl responded. "Open your mouth."

Esmeralda opened her mouth, and Olivia pushed her finger into it, and the young girl sucked her brother's cum off of the finger, and smiled.

"Do you like the taste of it?" Olivia asked her.

Esmeralda nodded.

"Taste more, then. Lick it out of me. I'll do the same to you."

And so Esmeralda climbed on top of her sister, and leaned down, and began to lick her pussy clean of their brother's cum, while Olivia lifted her head and licked Henry's cum from Esmeralda. And as the two girls cleaned each other with their tongues, Esmeralda felt the others' emotions again; the pleasure that her tongue was bringing to Olivia, filling her entire body with pulses of sexual energy, and the thrill that her brother felt at watching his sister suck his cum from another girl's pussy. And she felt her brother harden with awakening desire, and she said to him, Yes.

He climbed behind her, and took her hips into his hands, then slid his cock into his little sister and began to fuck her, his balls dragging on Olivia's face while she continued licking Esmeralda's little clit. The feeling of cock and tongue together overwhelmed the little girl, and she could feel their emotions from both of their minds: her sister's tongue gliding along her brothers cock as the girl tasted the depths of Esmeralda's pussy on Stephen's cock, and Stephen feeling the wetness of her tongue against the sticky heat of his pussy-cum drenched cock.

And the three of them came together again that night.

Chapter Five: Homeward

Esmeralda knew that Mr. Farthing was coming for her, before he had even left the house. She always knew when he was coming, not because she could read his mind, but because she could feel his darkness.

So the green-skinned girl was not surprised when he approached her while she milked the cow, nor when he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her from the milking stool and tossed her to the floor.

Once again, for the hundredth time at least, he pulled her underclothes down and dropped his trousers and climbed on top of her. He knew by now that she did not resist him, but he forced himself on her anyway.

Her father lay down on top of her and shoved his cock into her and began thrusting hard, and within a minute, he was done.

"I saw the parson in town today," Molly Farthing said over their supper of bread and soup that night.

"The parson," her husband spat, and she gave him a glare.

"He says that our Esmeralda is most devote," she continued. "It seems she visits him nearly every day."

Olivia looked over at her little sister with a furtive smile. Esmeralda returned the smile, and then said, "I've learned so much from him. He is a very good teacher."

"His kind of learning, we don't need," her father said, which made Esmeralda smile more. He was an angry man, but a fool as well. He squinted his eyes at her as she smiled, but then looked away, chastened, for he knew what she was thinking even though she hadn't entered his mind. And he knew that the girl was right about him, too.

"He says that Lord Barrington is in need of a serving girl," Mrs. Farthing continued, "and the lord asked Parson Wittmore to recommend a candidate. 'Someone most devote,' was his words, according to the parson."

Olivia's eyes widened as she looked at her sister again.

"Molly..." the man said with a gruff grumble.

"You'll not say a word, Jack Farthing," his wife retorted. "The parson recommended Esmeralda to the lord. And I agree with him."

Her husband responded with a harsh look. "This is my house, woman. You do not make the orders here."

Molly Farthing laughed. "Ah, yes I do, old man. And I suggest you stop your gob before you speak out loud whatever it is you plan to say next. Don't think I don't know what you do to the poor girl."

"Molly!" he retorted, more forcefully. "What in god's name are you talking about? Have you been at my wine?"

"Your wine?" she laughed. "I've not had enough of it!" She picked up the bottle and filled her goblet. "I suppose I should be thankful that you keep it in the stable. At least you don't fuck her in our marriage bed."

Olivia stared wide-eyed from her mother to her father as they argued; Stephen sat still, looking down at his hands folded in his lap.

"Woman, get some sense about you!" Mr. Farthing said, grabbing the bottle from her. "You'll have no more drink tonight!"

"In truth, old man, I finally do have my sense about me, and you know it full-well." Then the woman turned to the green-skinned girl, and said in a calming voice, "The parson assures me that you will be safe at the lord's estate, Esme. You will be well cared-for. You understand, child, do you not? We can have you in this house no longer."

Esmeralda nodded, and gave the woman a smile. "I understand." And she sent a thought to the woman's mind: Thank you.

"Pack your bags, then, Esme," the woman said. "We'll take you there today." And she thought back: You're welcome.

Esmeralda lay on her back on a soft cloud of goose down feathers and supple woolen sheets that made her bed in the Lord Barrington's estate the most comfortable thing she'd ever ever lain upon. But for the moment, the green-skinned girl was not relaxing, nor was Henry, the lord's son; for he was laying on top of her, doing what men like best to do. He was breathing hard on her neck and moaning softly, and she had her arms and legs wrapped around him.

Henry Barrington was a good lover, always considerate of Esmeralda's needs, and the fact that he came to her room every night to make love with her was the finest thing, of all the many fine things, about her position in the Barrington household. She was a servant girl, 'tis true, but in name only; in truth, she was the younger Barrington's mistress, and everyone was aware of this and treated her as such. Even the lord himself knew, and while at first he was not pleased, Esmeralda made sure that he was kept happy himself, in just the way she knew best how to do. Lady Barrington was fine with this arrangement; her brooding days were past, and having a serving girl to serve her husband's needs allowed her to sleep a peaceful night.

But now, as Henry did his deed inside her, the green-skinned girl's thoughts were elsewhere, far away. From across the river, across the swamp, her sister Olivia's thoughts wafted into her mind.

Something was wrong.

She did not say anything to Henry, though. She knew he was close to finishing, and as much as she was concerned for whatever it was that troubled Olivia, she knew her immediate role was to help Henry to complete the act. Making the men in her life feel good was a favorite thing of hers to do; the young girl still visited the parson as often as she could, and had made close friends with a few of the village boys, and with their fathers as well. But Henry was the most important person in her life, more important even than her sister and her brother. And so, she momentarily forced Olivia's thoughts into the furthest reaches of her mind, then entered his. She felt herself flooded with the powerful feeling of a man's pending orgasm: the mounting pressure on his balls, the unbelievable power of the need for release. The feelings were so strong that it took her breath away, and she arched her back and tightened her grip around him and gave her thoughts to him: Fill me. I will take what you give me. Fill me full.

And then she felt the explosion in his mind, as his thoughts flooded into her soul, and then she felt it physically, in her own pussy. She felt him slam in as deep as he could and hold himself there and bellow out loud, and her head filled with a rush of pleasure, and her pussy filled with a rush of semen, and Henry reared back and slammed in again and exploded again.

When he was done, he rolled off of her. "Oh god," he groaned. "Jesus, you are the best I've ever had."

Esmeralda turned her head and smiled at him, and let him feel in his mind the wetness between her legs as his cum leaked out of her.

"That... that thing you do." He pointed to his head. "How you get inside me. It's amazing. It's fucking amazing." He sat up on an elbow and looked at her, then kissed her cheek. "You are amazing."

But then, Henry looked at her with a puzzled expression, his eyes narrowing and his post-orgasmic blissful smile dissipating.

"Something's wrong, isn't it?"

Esmeralda let her smile dissipate as well, and she nodded. "Olivia," she said.

"Olivia?" Henry sat up. "Is something wrong with Olivia?" The young lad jumped out of bed and began pulling on his trousers and grabbed his sword and scabbard. "It's your father, isn't it? Now that you're gone, he's raping her instead? I'll kill him. I'll get her, and bring her back here, and I'll kill that horrible man. I should have done it months ago."

"No, it isn't that," Esmeralda said. "My father isn't raping her."

"What is it then?" Henry asked, is face contorted with concern as he pulled on his shirt.

Esmeralda closed her eyes, and let herself enter Olivia's mind again. "It's Stephen," she said.

"Stephen? What about him?"

"He's sick."

"Sick? We'll... we'll bring him here, and take care of him," Henry said. "I'll summon the surgeon."

"There's nothing to be done for him here," Esmeralda said.

"What then?" Henry asked.

"I must take him home," she answered.

"Home? You mean..." He looked looked out the window for a moment, at the stars, and Esmeralda nodded.

"And you will take him? You will leave us?"

"I must," she said. "He cannot go alone."

"I don't intend to live without you, Esmeralda," Henry said. "I will come with you."

She smiled at him, then closed her eyes again, and her mind filled with another thought of Olivia. And she opened her eyes, wide with surprise.

"Olivia is with child!" she said.

"Olivia? With child?!? Who...?"

She closed her eyes again. "It's Stephen's. It's Stephen's child."

"It might be mine," he said. "I've cum in her..."

Esmeralda opened her eyes, and smiled at him. "No, it's Stephen's. I know it is."

Henry nodded, but with a look of concern. "Will the baby have green skin, like you?"

"I suppose," Esmeralda answered. "I suppose it will, yes."

"Then she must come to your home with us," he said. "We can't leave her here. We can't leave the baby here. People will not accept it."

The girl nodded her agreement.

"So what must we do?" Henry asked her. "How do we get to your home?"

"We need to go to the wolf pit," Esmeralda answered.

Henry nodded. "Now?"

"Now."

Olivia was awoken by a knock on her bedroom window. "Henry!" she said, before she'd even risen from the bed.

"Where's Stephen?" he asked her, when she flung the window open. "Is he okay?"

Even as he spoke, Esmeralda scurried through the window and into the room, and was quickly kneeling by her brother's bed.

"He's not good," Olivia said. "I don't know what's wrong."

"Have your parents called the surgeon?" Henry asked her. "He'll let his blood at least."

Esmeralda, for her part, had lifted the nearly lifeless head of her brother into her arms. "There'll be no letting blood," she said. "We must get him to our home."

"Will he survive?" Olivia asked her sister. "He looks so sick! He looks nearly dead!"

"We must get him to their home," Henry repeated Esmeralda's words.

"Where is their home?" Olivia asked, joining him to help.

"In the stars," Henry answered. "Esme has told me about it. It's very beautiful there. It's like paradise."

"Heaven is in the stars," Olivia said. "Esmeralda and Stephen are angels, aren't they?"

"No," Henry said, "or if they are, then, angels are very different than we have been taught."

Olivia nodded as she knelt by Stephen's bed and helped Henry and Esmeralda to lift him.

"If they aren't angels," she asked, "then what are they? What are you, Esme?"

"We are people," she answered, "only from another place."

Olivia nodded.

"And now we need to get Stephen home."

Henry lifted the lifeless body of Stephen from the bed. "I'm going home with them," he said. "I won't live without them. And you must come with us as well."

"Me?" the girl responded. "But..."

"You carry Stephen's baby, even now," he told her.

Olivia's eyes went wide, but she only nodded in agreement, and Esmeralda suddenly realized that the news was not a shock to her. She knew already.

"So it will be the four of us," Olivia said, "taking Stephen home to save him."

"Then it is decided," Henry said, giving Olivia a grim smile. "Help me get him to my horse."

A few minutes later, the four of them stood in the wolf pit together, Henry tenderly cradling the lifeless Stephen in his arms, Esmeralda with one arm locked with his, the other holding Olivia by the hand. She had a smile. She had a worried look, but also a smile.

"It's so beautiful, where we live," she said out loud, to both of her dear friends. "You will love it there."

"What do we do? Do we just... stand here?" Henry asked.

"They will come," Esmeralda said. "They are coming. They will be here soon."

Even as she spoke, some enormous object began to fill the sky above them, obscuring the moon and blotting out the stars, such that the night became even darker still. Henry looked up into the sky, his mind filled with wonder. What is this thing?

And then Esmeralda spoke, but didn't speak: Papa, she said, This is Henry. He's my human friend. He's my boyfriend, and I love him, and he loves me, and he is coming home with us. He carried Stephen here, to save his life.

And this is Olivia, our Earth-sister. She carries Stephen's baby inside her. She's coming home with us as well.

And then Henry felt a strange sensation. Stephen suddenly became very light in his arms, and began to float away from him, and he instinctively grabbed out to hold him. But at that moment, Henry himself began to float as well, and Esmeralda, and Olivia, all four of them floating into the air.

Up above the land, above the houses, above the trees, they floated away from Earth.

---===o0o===---

All that the villagers found the next morning was Henry's horse, standing peacefully next to the wolf pit, saddle and bridle in place. The green-skinned monster children were gone, and so were their lovers, the Daughter Farthing and the Son Barrington. All four of them were gone, and never seen again.

Epilogue: The Green-Skinned People

Henry lay in a bed, bathed in a strange light like he had never seen before. The room had no windows, and so the light seemed to glow from the ceiling and the walls. It was a soft glow, a comforting glow. There was another bed in the same room, and he saw that Olivia lay there, still asleep.

As his eyes adjusted to the strange new light, he felt Esmeralda enter his mind. You're awake! she said, and a moment later she bounced enthusiastically the room. She was followed by two other people, a man and a woman with the same strange green skin that Esmeralda had, and the same wide eyes. Both of the people were very tall, much taller than the girl, and very thin. As with Esmeralda, they wore white smocks with golden sashes.

Esmeralda ran to the bed and jumped on it. "Stephen will be okay! The doctors say his diet on Earth was bad for him, and so they have began to feed him the food of our people, and he has improved already. Apparently I have a 'stronger constitution,' so I could take your strange food better."

"I'm happy to hear it!" Henry laughed. "And I am not surprised to hear that you have a strong constitution. I could have told them that!"

Esmeralda laughed, and climbed onto him, and kissed him. She held him and rolled over onto her back, pulling him with her, so that he was on top of her. "Fuck me, Henry," she said, and then she thought, fuck me hard.

"Now?" he answered. "But..." He looked at the two other people that had come with her into the room. They were standing nearby, smiling.

"They want to watch," Esmeralda said. "They're curious how a human does it. Isn't that right, Mama and Papa?"

"They're your parents?" Henry said in a whisper, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. He had, after all, been having sex with these people's ten year old daughter, often, and for several months now. "We shouldn't..." But his words were interrupted as he felt his mind fill with their thoughts.

They are a funny race, these humans, the man thought. They are embarrassed of sex. They think it should be hidden.

Despite his sickly pale skin, the woman thought-responded, he is a handsome lad. He has an interesting face. And do you see his cock?

Yes, is it a good cock? I've never seen a human specimen to compare it to.

"It's a very good cock!" Esmeralda said out loud, laughing. And then to her lover, "Now let's show them how you use it!"

And Henry found that he did not mind so much, having her parents watch. He found that he enjoyed putting on a show for them, and he climbed atop the green-skinned girl and pushed his cock into her pussy and began to pump his hips.

Enticing, he heard her mother's thoughts. See his balls? I like them. They are much bigger than yours.

They are not! Mine are larger!

And their laughter filled Henry's mind with merriment, and he laughed, and Esmeralda laughed, and Olivia awoke and sat up in her bed, and laughed as well.

Ah, the pregnant human is awake! Esmeralda's father thought.

You wish to fuck her, don't you, husband?

I do.

I do too.

And look, she smiles at us. She knows.

She hears our words.

And so Esmeralda's green-skinned parents climbed into Olivia's bed, and touched her body, and she touched them as well, and then the man climbed on top of her and slid his long skinny green-skinned cock into her while the woman covered Olivia's pale skin with kisses.

And their minds filled with pleasure, shared among all of them, and they felt each other's excitement and energy and joy, until the men eventually came inside the girls, and the woman orgasmed with the men, and they all laughed when they were done.

Paradise, Henry thought, and Esmeralda kissed him.

"Yes, it is," she said, "now that we know Stephen will survive, and you and Olivia are here."

And the two lovers kissed, and kissed, until the green-skinned girl climbed onto him again and rode him while Olivia and her parents watched with broad and happy smiles.

---=== FIN ===---

Afterword: The Green Children of Woolpit

The story of the Green Children of Woolpit (Wikipedia link) dates to 12th century England, and is not well known outside the academic study of folklore (and the village of Woolpit itself, where it is considered a foundational tale and is likely the reason for the village's name). Insomuch as the story is known at all in the broader world, it's mostly because it is occasionally discussed among UFO/"first encounter" enthusiasts, and indeed some folklorists believe it to be the earliest known version of what we today call the trope of "the little green men from Mars." With this in mind, I combine a bit of our modern version of these alien encounter stories with the original folk tale, but this is literary license on my part. The original includes no mind melding, no space ships, and if the original story was "science fiction," it was of a very different sort than what we expect today.

What the ancient story is actually about, is lost in antiquity. Most folklorists consider it a "garbled" tale, meaning that it has changed with the telling over time in such ways that whatever sense there was in the original has been lost. Others consider it a literal "faerie tale" -- that the green children are faeries, from some sort of mythical faerie land. Another possible explanation is that the story reflects a growing awareness among medieval commoners that there are other people in the world, with other colors of skin. The First Crusade was in the 11th Century; Marco Polo and his spice route to China two hundred years later. The commoner's view of world was indeed changing at the time, growing bigger, and the story of the green children falls right in between these two events. The idea that these children may be foreigners from an unknown, but terrestrial, land has some merit -- in the original tale, they are said to have a strange diet and speak a strange tongue, and the girl is described as promiscuous -- a description often applied to the "unchurched heathen" of the non-Christian world.

Characters with green skin appear in other medieval tales, most prominently Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. "First encounter" enthusiasts point to this as early evidence of alien contact, although it's just as likely that this explanation has cause and effect backwards: that the modern idea of green-skinned aliens lives in our social consciousness because it is a descendant of these ancient tales. Or, to put it another way, our modern stories swim in an ocean of ancient folklore, whether we are aware of it or not; we storytellers inherit a vast tradition, far greater than we have even a scant awareness of. Consider, if you will; what if today's stories of alien contact are the progeny of our ancestor's ancient tales of faeries and magical creatures? I find this thought at least as thrilling as the idea that these ancient tales are "real" stories of alien encounters!

Lastly, aficionados of my writing might be interested to know that the story of the Green Children of Woolpit appears briefly in another retelling of a folk story that I wrote. In The Tale of Tam Lin, Tam Lin asks the girl, Janet, to tell him a story, and she tells him the story of the green children.

Writers love to hear from their readers, so please leave a comment about The Green Children in the Wolf Pit! You can leave a comment by filling out the completely anonymous comment form below, or you can email me at chrishailey01@protonmail.com. Please include a nickname that I can use when I post your comment (if no nickname is provided, I'll use "Anonymous"). I will, of course, never use your real name, nor will I ever include your email address. So your comment is 100% anonymous, guaranteed!

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