Message-ID: <26779asstr$971082602@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
X-Original-Path: not-for-mail
From: pulpfan26@hotmail.com
X-Original-Message-ID: <8rr4b7$sns$1@nnrp1.deja.com>
X-Article-Creation-Date: Mon Oct 09 00:43:20 2000 GMT
Subject: {ASSM} Lake of Dreams MF F solo fantasy
Date: Mon,  9 Oct 2000 05:10:02 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d
X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2000/26779>
X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com>
X-Moderator-ID: RuiJorge, dennyw

THE LAKE OF DREAMS

by
Pulp Fan

This story contains explicit matter of a sexual nature and if you are
under legal age in your jurisdiction, stop reading this and go off and
read something else!  I always love to hear from folks about my
stories; you can contact me at either pulpfan26@hotmail.com.

This story is copyright 2000 by Pulp Fan.  Permission is given to
repost it, or to put it on free websites, but please don't alter the
text or post it on websites which charge fees for access.

This story is part one of a much longer erotic fairy tale I've started
to write, to be called "The Realm Betwixt", but it stands on its own.
At this time, I'm not sure the longer piece will ever be written, but
who knows?

This story contains: MF, F solo, fantasy.

* * * *

	Gwendolyn's life changed forever the day she drowned.

	It was, of course, true that her life had been changing
gradually in many ways for some time, as is the natural order of
things.  From a carefree little girl--who loved nothing more than to
sit perched on the knee of her white-haired grandfather, listening with
wide-eyed wonder to the fantastic tales the old man told, fables of
secretive elves and towering dragons and mischievous fairies, of fair
princes and dazzling princesses and heroes brave and strong--the last
few years had seen her tall, lanky form fill out, flowering and
maturing as she blossomed into young womanhood.  No more did the young
boys taunt her cruelly as she walked along the muddy streets carrying
out her chores, teasing her in the misguided, malicious way that
children oft do.  Now young men came to pay court to her, to praise her
many charms, to describe with clumsy (though heartfelt) poetry her
radiant beauty, all in the hopes of stealing a kiss from her delectable
lips, each one tremulously hoping that his would be the face on which
those sparkling crystal eyes would shine with pleasure and wondrous
light.

	Gwendolyn's mother, knowing all-to-well the ways of young women
and their passage into adulthood--and even more so the ways of young
men!--kept a protective yet trusting eye on her only daughter, her
treasure, whom she had raised alone for many years since the black
night the wolf-riders swept out from their craggy lairs in the
Whispering Mountains, leaving many--Gwendolyn's father among them--dead
in their howling wake.  The cleverest of Gwendolyn's suitors found hope
and strategy in this kindly vigil, well-nigh wooing the mother as
fiercely as the daughter, bringing her small gifts of shimmering cloth
or semi-precious stones, careful to always flatter her as well.  While
they congratulated themselves for their subtlety, the widow merely
smiled with good humor and thanked them politely, hiding her laughter
behind her twinkling eyes.

	And so it had come to pass that one spring, when life once
again renewed itself in its annual ritual and the world was ablaze in
riotous bloom, Gwendolyn at last gave her heart to another.  He was
Petr and he was the blacksmith's son, a fine and upstanding lad,
destined to be an important man in the village.  Though he had seen but
twenty summers, he was strong as a snowbear and few could stand against
him at the festivals, when the men, young and old, engaged in spirited
bouts of wrestling, as well as other tests of strength and skill.  Yet
he did not abuse his strength as some would have and bully those less
fortunate than he; rather, he was a young man who had a kind word for
all and was always ready to help those who needed it, whose unfailing
spirit of good humor endeared him to all he met, even to those who
might otherwise have regarded him with dark jealousy.  It was these
qualities of character, and not his fine young form, that at length won
him the heart of the fair Gwendolyn--and yes, the approval of her white-
haired mother, who began to secretly look forward to the day when she
could bounce a wee bairn upon her knee.

	From clumsy kisses stolen when the gaze of Gwendolyn's mother
wandered for a moment, Gwen's and Petr's youthful fumblings had
progressed apace as their attraction and liking for each other grew.
Petr had been an ardent suitor, and a thankful one.  Though he had much
to offer a young woman and had been the target of many flirtatious
advances from the village beauties, in his humble way, the lad was
constantly amazed and overjoyed that Gwendolyn--whose very form was
perfection, whose long blonde tresses framed the most kissable face,
complete with a pert nose lightly sprinkled with freckles, whose
budding womanly curves filled out her bodice in the most delightful
way, hinting at the glorious treasures waiting to be discovered beneath
it--for some inexplicable reason found him as entrancing as he found
her.  Though he could at times scarce believe it, yet Petr was no fool
and did not question his good fortune; rather, he thanked the gods and
wooed her with an ardor which belied his youth and inexperience.

	And so it had come to pass that as Petr became accepted by
Gwendolyn's mother and it became apparent to all that their betrothal
was not far distant, the young woman was allowed to spend time alone
with her suitor, out from under her mother's watchful eye.  The two
young lovers joyously reveled in this new found freedom, spending hours
walking hand-in-hand through the shady forests and sunny fields, losing
themselves in each other's eyes, sometimes telling each other their
innermost thoughts, sometimes not speaking at all yet knowing those
thoughts just the same, happy to have discovered a love the likes of
which it seemed no one else could have known.

	Though she loved Petr with every fiber of her being, Gwendolyn
was, at first, loath to betray the trust she felt her mother had laid
upon her, and though her heart sang to be near him and she wanted
nothing more to be his, in body as she already was in soul, yet
Gwendolyn preserved her chastity, allowing her lover liberty to run his
hands over her clothed form, inflaming her, his kisses scalding her as
they rained down upon her tender lips and soft cheeks and the warm
hollows of her neck, but steadily demurring to disrobe or consummate
their relationship with the ultimate physical expressions of love.

	Yet as the fragrant spring nights grew longer and summer
returned to the land, Gwendolyn found it ever harder to refuse his
intimate caresses, to fight against the feverish urges of her young
blood.  Finally, on her eighteenth birthday, she resisted no more,
succumbing to her aching desires and allowing Petr to be with her in
that wondrous manner which she had hitherto only dreamt about.  The
scene of her deflowering was a small glade, in which wildflowers grew
in riotous profusion, their perfume filling the noon air with a heady
scent that urged her on to wild abandon.  The sleepy glade lay along
the gently rippling shore of a crystalline blue lake, whose sparking
depths seemed a mirror reflecting her soul.  Many had been the time
Gwendolyn and Petr had stood along the shores of the Lake of Dreams
before that magical day, gazing out over the deep waters, its name apt
as they stared in silence, alone in their thoughts but taking comfort
in each other's presence.

	Though the lake was idyllic, not a soul had ever intruded upon
their solitude, for the lake was whispered by the elders to be a
dangerous place, dark and mysterious.  There, the villagers trod but
rarely, never staying to tarry beside the calm waters but passing it as
quickly as they might.  Many had been the stories Gwen's grandfather
had wove about the Lake of Dreams, stories which she had dismissed (as
she had most of the tales she loved) as the fantastic imaginings of an
old man's mind, though in this instance, the same stories were told by
others in the village as well.  It was said that unwary travelers to
the lake--particularly those who came upon its shores at night--would
hear the sirens calling them, entrancing them to enter the inviting
waters which would enfold them like a lover, locking them in its
eternal embrace.  And indeed, Gwendolyn could recall, in her lifetime,
an instance where a village lad had disappeared whilst returning home
one evening, his path certain to have taken him past the lake.  Though
none knew his fate, and while there were many more prosaic dangers that
could have claimed his life along the forest trail he rode, yet the
elders in her village knew that it was the lake that had taken him and
he was seen no more.

	Though Gwendolyn had, with the wisdom of youth, dismissed the
tales she had heard of the lake, yet she had been loath to go there,
until Petr revealed that he had been to its shores many times, claiming
that its beauty--though less than her own!--was wondrous to behold.  As
a young man, he had first gone to the Lake of Dreams on a dare.  He
confessed to her that as he had approached that first time, the stories
he had heard had nearly unmanned him and caused him to turn back, but
then his courage rose within him and he pressed forward until at last
he stood ankle-deep in its waters.  After a short while, he realized
that the stories were just that--stories--and that he had nothing to
fear.  He had returned to the lake on many subsequent occasions,
finding it an idyllic spot in which to relax, far from the cares of the
ordinary world.  Emboldened by his words, and secure in the knowledge
that Petr would never allow any harm to befall her, Gwendolyn had
accompanied her love to the lake and been entranced.  There, she and
Petr had discovered the grotto that they termed "their secret spot,"
belonging only to them, and it was there that Gwen and Petr first
explored the mysteries of the joining of woman and man.

	It was at this hidden retreat that Gwendolyn found herself one
warm and sultry eve in her eighteenth summer, waiting for her lover to
appear.  Inhaling deeply of the invigorating night air, she thought
back to that momentous day, scant weeks earlier, and smiled, the
enigmatic smile of a young woman who has tasted--or believes she has
tasted--of all life has to offer.  Though their first experiences had
been in the golden light of day, lately, as the sweltering heat of the
days grew to seemingly rival that of the forge at which Petr toiled for
his living, she and her beloved had taken to meeting there in the
cooler summer night, the soft silvery glow of the moons washing over
their writhing forms as they feverishly coupled on the grass or
splashed in the shallows, their cries of abandon echoing over the
gently rippling waters of the lake, their slick sweat washed away by
the waves.

	She and Petr had arranged to meet at the glade again this
evening, but while she had arrived, Petr had apparently tarried at his
forge and had yet to appear.  In fairness to the young man, it was more
that Gwen was early than that he was late for their tryst.  As she
strolled barefoot through the tall grasses, breathing deeply of the
softly swaying flowers--their tantalizing scent wafting in the gentle
breeze--Gwen could scarce contain herself as she looked forward with
eager anticipation to the lovemaking to come.  For while she had
resisted Petr's advances for some time, once she had given in to them,
the young woman had discovered that she was a deeply sensual creature.
She thrilled to the touch of her lover's lips and tongue and fingers on
her soft skin, eagerly stroking her burning flesh, sliding along to
plumb and taste her core and coaxing climax after delicious climax from
her trembling young body.  She reveled in her ability to give him the
same sinful pleasure, loving the feel of his excited hardness in her
mouth, his salty essence spraying across her flickering tongue.  And
most of all she delighted in the feel of his solid manhood prying apart
her netherlips, penetrating her moist body to its depths and filling
her to near bursting with exquisite sensations as she pulled him
tighter to her, raking her fingernails across his heaving buttocks.

	As she waited for him, her mind racing along its libidinous
course, the sound of the waves rhythmically slapping against the shore
seemed to call to her, inviting the young woman to enter the warm and
comforting water.  Without realizing she was doing so, she found
herself listening to the pulsing beat, almost certain that she could
make out words, if only she tried hard enough.  Though she knew it was
crazy, in the back of her mind she felt that the lake was watching her--
had watched her and Petr through all of those long, sultry summer days
and nights as they writhed along its shores and, their lusts
temporarily sated, cooled the flames of their passion in its depths.
Given the erotic tableaus the lake had witnessed, the part it had
played in their post-lovemaking games--and sometimes, their lovemaking
itself--it had entwined itself into her unconscious until it had become
an intimate friend.  As if the lake had called her to it, she meandered
through the clearing towards the shore, her deft fingers slowly
unlacing the stays securing her dress.  Reaching the edge of the water,
she grasped the garment's hem and lifted it sensually above her slim
waist, past the swelling mounds of her breasts and over her head,
mussing her locks, her body arching lazily as a cat as she disrobed, as
if to teasingly display her charms to her lover before her.  Yet no
human eyes alighted upon her curved form; no voices cried out in
pleased wonderment at the alluring glories she had revealed.  Only the
Lake of Dreams stared at the supple young woman, and its counsel it
kept to itself.

	Slowly Gwen turned in the cool night breeze, the discarded
dress falling, forgotten, to the gently swaying grasses behind her,
lifting herself on her tiptoes, arms outstretched as if she were one of
the winged-folk about to take flight.  Well aware that it inflamed Petr
when she wore naught beneath her dress, the young woman had sought to
please him.  The silvery light from the moons shone and reflected off
her nude form with an eerie luminescence; a veritable goddess, her
smooth skin seemed to glow from within.  Gwen's blonde hair, slightly
disheveled, lay in waves over her shoulders, the winds taking pleasure
in toying with loose strands.  Her young breasts, firm and supple, were
outthrust proudly as she slowly pivoted, their undersides cast into
shadow, the breeze caressing her hardening nipples like a lover,
causing the most delightful sensations to dart through her taut body.
Beneath those supple mounds, past the flat of her stomach and the
delicate little hollow of her belly button, a trimmed tuft of hair
momentarily concealed in the evening light the glorious jewel which lay
at the juncture of her thighs.  The cheeks of her rounded ass quivered
slightly, delightfully, as she spun around, unconsciously and without
shame displaying her exquisite body to the world, arms spread wide as
if in supplication, a mute entreaty to an imaginary lover.  Her thighs
and calves taut with the strain of maintaining her balance on tiptoe,
her slim feet digging, spread toes squishing, into the soft, moist loam
at the edge of the loch, an observer stumbling onto the scene would
have sworn he beheld a water nymph, arisen from the murky depths of the
lake to gambol upon its shores in naked splendour.

	Slowly Gwen trode into the lake, its welcoming waves lapping
first at her feet and ankles, then rising to caress her calves, her
knees, her thighs.  With a fluid motion she dove forward, cleaving the
water, immersing herself in its comforting embrace.  Surfacing, she
kicked strongly, slim feet churning up a foam, driving her away from
the shore.  After a few moments, she rolled and came to rest on her
back.  Floating free, bobbing gently upon the waves, Gwen stared up at
the brilliant night sky, aflame with glittering jewels.  Her long hair
floated in intricate patterns upon the gently rippling surface of the
lake, creating the illusion of a gossamer ha-lo around her head; pale
breasts with their engorged, darkened centers glistened in the moons'
light as the water dripped from her.  The warm water embraced her,
stroking her like an attentive lover, tiny tendrils licking out and
kissing her flesh in a thousand secret places.

	Though Gwen had swum with Petr in the lake many times 'ere this
night, yet she had never felt its presence more keenly.  While the
thought did not penetrate her consciousness, deep within she felt,
almost instinctively, that on some primal level it was aware of her,
that hidden eyes watched her, desired her.  The lapping liquid played
softly at the portals of her womanhood, splashing gently across those
velvety lips and the tender little clitoris hidden in their scented
folds, dewing in little beads on her soft maiden hairs, pooling with
moonlit sparkles like a jewel in the hollow of her belly button.
Closing her eyes, luxuriating in the sensual languor suffusing her
body, Gwen's mind drifted back, unbidden, to the first time she had
disrobed upon the shores of the lake, the day that Petr had taken her
maidenhead and she had completed her journey from girl to woman.
Floating calmly, she languidly reached down betwixt her dripping thighs
with one hand, not so much stroking her sensitive charms as spreading
the petals of her swollen labia with her fingers, to allow the all-
knowing waters greater access to the heated flesh.  A sigh of
satisfaction escaped her parted lips as she bobbed on the gentle
swells, audible proof that the lake's caress was making the young woman
as wet inside as it was outside.

	As the water stimulated her, Gwen smiled to remember that first
time with Petr, the eager anticipation mingled with trepidation--
worried that it would hurt, wildly curious about how it would feel to
be filled by Petr's manhood, worried that she would be clumsy, not good
enough, and that Petr would cease to love her.  In the end, all of her
fears had proved groundless, for though indeed she had been clumsy, as
had Petr, her wildest imaginings had been insufficient to anticipate
the pleasures to be born of such clumsy fumblings.  Her lover had
kissed her gently all the while whilst disrobing her, one article of
clothing at a time.  As each new morsel of flesh was revealed to the
golden light of day, he had slid his lips to it, kissing and nibbling
on it while stroking her trembling body with his hands--roughened from
his trade yet now seeming to be soft as the clouds--causing the most
delightful sensations to dart through her excited form.  Gwen's head
had spun when at last her virginal breasts lay exposed to the summer
air and Petr had captured a cherry-red nipple between his lips.  Why
had she waited so long!?  He alternated his oral caresses, sliding his
mouth and tongue from one glorious mound to the other, gently laving
them with his tongue, sucking on her hardening peaks, drawing soft
sighs of rapture from the young woman's parted lips, teasing her and
drawing out her excitement.

	When at last he had delved betwixt her thighs and there found
her damp portal, Gwen felt that surely she must die from pleasure.  His
lips and tongue feasted on her fragrant bounty, parting her slick lower
lips and tasting her heated core, stabbing into her until she exploded
in frenzied spasms upon his face, arching up off the ground, clenching
his head so tightly with her strong thighs that they were both gasping
for breath by the time she fell back, wonderfully sated, upon the
sward.  Though she was eager to repay his oral ministrations in kind,
her lover could wait no more.  Hearing her staccato cries as she came--
feeling her clench at him, her fingers entwined in his coal-black hair,
pulling his face harder against her with her hands--had fired Petr's
desire 'til it was as hot as the molten iron he worked in his forge.
Much as he would have loved for his wonderful Gwen to have used her
mouth on him, that was a delight which would wait for later that day.
His need to make her his own was paramount.  In an erotic haze Gwen had
watched Petr rise above her, her legs opening wide of their own
volition to accept him, her flower brazenly, unabashedly on display for
him to pluck.  Flushed with the heat of the day and the moment, it had
seemed an eternity to Gwen as he tremblingly lowered himself upon her,
his erect shaft nudging momentarily at the sopping entrance before
slipping hesitantly inside.

	Her gasps came louder as he slowly sheathed himself in her
velvety wetness.  The momentary pain she felt when he broke through the
last of her barriers was quickly replaced with intense sensations of
delight streaming through her as he plunged in and out of her core,
timidly at first, then harder and harder, the speed of his thrusts
increasing as Petr's lust drove him spiraling towards the sky.  Impaled
on his rod, Gwen writhed in ecstasy on the grass beneath him, her
fingers clutching at the sod, tearing loose great clumps of grasses and
wildflowers as he drove her once more to passion's precipice and forced
her over, senses falling and flying.  Their mingled cries filled the
glade, the smell of sex mixing with the hazy perfume of the flowers, as
Gwen exploded around his shaft.  The feel of his love's sheath
clenching around him as she came, the sight of her angelic face
contorted with lust as she lashed from side to side beneath him, drove
Petr over the edge.  Burying himself in her to the hilt, his
ejaculation poured from him stronger than anything he'd experienced
before, until he felt that surely he had poured his life essence into
his lady love.  Exhausted, the two lovers had lain panting side by
side, arms and legs entwined, tiny rivulets of perspiration mingling,
cooling them.  Yet with the resiliency of youth, they were soon
enjoying the pleasures of the flesh once more, and the day would not
end before Petr had paid salty tribute not only to Gwen's moist
womanhood yet again, but also had spent in her zealous mouth.

	The remembrance of that wonderful day was so vivid, the warm
waters toying at her slit so rhythmic and enticing, that Gwen felt an
orgasm welling up within her body, like a bubble trapped for aeons deep
in the lake suddenly released and rising up, up through the murky
depths to explode with a splash on the surface, dying as it was freed.
Eyes closed, concentrating on the pleasure she felt, the young woman
did not realize that her beloved had at last reached the glade and,
seeing her glistening nude form gently bobbing upon the waters of the
lake, was swiftly divesting himself of his clothing.  Her gleaming body
was entrancing, capturing Petr, drawing him in as if she were a
sorceress who had laid a glamour upon him, and his erect manhood stood
as solid evidence of his desire for her as he completed disrobing.

	Their minds on the delights of the flesh, it took both of them
by surprise.  One moment Gwen was floating--both mentally and
physically--with Petr preparing to join her; the next moment slim hands
broke through from beneath the surface of the lake, grasping the young
woman in a steely grip and dragging her beneath its waters!  Snapped
out of her erotic reverie, the shocked young woman flailed around, a
scream forming on her lips.  The water, formerly as attentive as a
lover, now flooded cold and lifeless into her mouth, choking her as she
coughed and gasped, her thoughts of escape now overridden by the
overwhelming desire to breath.  Her head spun; the glittering light of
the stars blinked out as she spiralled downwards into the inky
blackness, to be replaced by flashing lights and thunderous roaring,
seemingly from within her own mind, before that too faded and there was
only oblivion.

	From the shore, Petr looked on in horror as Gwen sank beneath
the waves.  An anguished cry, as of an animal wounded by a woodsman's
arrow, split the clear night air as he galvanized into action,
sprinting into the lake before diving forward.  Scant few seconds had
passed until his strong, clean strokes brought him to the spot where
Gwen had disappeared.  Filling his lungs, he dove repeatedly into the
now-sinister waters, but in the absence of sunlight, the gloom was
impenetrable.  Yet the young man refused to readily give up, to accept
that his love had been torn from him before his eyes.  It was not until
exhaustion forced him back onto shore--his gut-wrenching sobs mingling
with the cries of the night birds that Gwen had loved so dear--that he
was forced to admit that she was gone.

	He returned with many villagers the following day to search for
her, but none save Petr and Gwen's mother would enter the lake, which
once again bore a placid face.  Yet though they searched the length of
the day--until the shadows of the swaying trees had grown long, as had
the fears of the villagers, who were growing steadily more insistent
that they must be away from this accursed place by nightfall--no trace
of the young woman was found.  That night hushed voices around the
village concurred--the Lake of Dreams had claimed another victim.

	And in the grotto where he and Gwen had frolicked, Petr the
blacksmith's son built a memorial to his love, fashioning her form in
wrought iron as best he could, garlanded in wild iron flowers,
serenaded by gleaming iron birds, cleverly constructed so that when the
wind that rustled the long grasses caressed it, a low, haunting note
sounded along the shore.  Though he visited this shrine often (though
never at night), Gwen's mother came but rarely, and the other villagers
not at all.  And the summer eventually turned to fall, and the trees
lost their golden leaves and the white snow fell, chill blasts
screaming down from the jagged peaks, and life in the village resumed
its normal routine.  In the fullness of time, Petr assumed the mantel
of village blacksmith.  He treated Gwen's mother like his own and never
looked at another woman with love in his eyes again.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+