Author: Sailbad
Title: A Charmed Life  - The Capture
Part: 1 of 8
Universe: Jharum
Summary: The life of a woman given a special gift which changed her 
entire existence. Youth ever-lasting with a hunger for semen. She 
recalls the night a mysterious stranger implanted her. 
Keywords: FF, mc, hist 

A Charmed Life
By Sailbad@storiesonline.org
Chapter 1 - The Capture


There are people of great merit and talent who live out their lives 
shunning their true potential.  People with high intelligence or stunning 
beauty who actually hide their natural assets for whatever benefits 
obscurity can afford them.  Liz was one such person.  Though adroit in 
intellect with a seemingly endless knowledge in a wide variety of 
subjects, she never chose to use her skill to advance herself 
professionally.  Likewise, her very fit and curvaceous figure was 
obscured by a very drab and inconspicuous wardrobe while her elegantly 
chiseled face with lovely, wide blue eyes was hidden behind big, horned-
rim glasses and loose strands of her thick reddish-brown hair.  She was 
often chided by what little company she kept to step out from behind 
herself and flaunt her natural gifts, she remained resolutely loyal to 
her clandestine persona.

Liz left her bland, mundane job that evening with her usual diffident, 
subdued manner.  That was the way she lived her life, very unobtrusive 
and inconspicuous.  She made it quite plain to everyone that she did not 
want any undue attention and she worked hard to keep it that way.  To 
look at her one would wonder why she worked so hard to be unnoticeable.  
She was kind, considerate and likable but she kept her circle of close 
friends small and all of her relationships cordial but discrete.  In 
actuality it was all a cover up.  She had another life.  A life she 
worked diligently to keep secret.  It was a life that would bring 
devastating shame upon her if any of the most apparent facts were 
revealed and absolute danger if the entire truth were known.  Regardless, 
it was a condition that necessitated regular remedy.  Tonight she left 
her job with particular little fanfare to avoid delaying entanglements.  
Tonight she would not be going directly home.

Liz sought replenishment.  Reinvigoration.  Rejuvenation.  It was a 
regular semi-monthly ritual she needed to partake in.  It was pleasurable 
for her but involved enduring certain unsavory places and uncomfortable 
encounters that a lady should not put herself in, no matter how familiar 
the practice was to her nor how dire her need.

When she finished work she drove far from her familiar territory and 
ventured to an area where she was sure not to meet anyone who might know 
or recognize her.  The place she was going to was not completely new to 
her, but a place she took extra care in not frequenting twice within any 
eight-week period.  After a fifty-five minute drive she arrived at her 
destination.  The sign in front read ‘Wicked Wanda’s Pleasure Palace’ and 
beneath it ‘Adult books, Novelties, XXX Arcade’.  It was a den for 
sexually starved and lonely men to exercise their unrequited longing, no 
place at all for an attractive, young auburn haired woman with a spotless 
and carefully guarded social reputation.  As Liz approached she took 
inventory of the number of cars in the parking lot before pulling into 
the lot of the abandoned motel on the far side of the book store.  She 
parked her car and turned off the engine.  There were not enough cars 
gathered yet.  More important, it was still far too light out and she 
couldn’t stand the idea of being seen going into that place even if there 
were no chance of anyone she knew being in the area.  The only car on the 
road was the one that had been behind her which pulled into the book 
store lot and parked on the far side.  She knew more would come when it 
got dark.

She took the time to get ready and relax before she made her dash to the 
door.  She took a black trench coat from the back seat and pulled around 
her shoulders and then plunged her arms into both the sleeves.  Off came 
her glasses which she didn’t really need but had become a habit to wear.  
She checked the pockets for her essential supplies; a can of pepper 
spray, an envelope containing a few crisp five dollar bills, a damp wash 
cloth, and a small wooden wedge.  She pulled a black stocking cap over 
her head and then tucked her long, wavy trusses up into it.  Taking a 
last careful look around, she hiked up her skirt, arched to lift her rump 
from the car seat and then pushed her pantyhose and panties down past her 
knees in one swift motion.  She kicked off her shoes and pulled the filmy 
material off of both feet, tossing the balled up bunch on the seat beside 
her.

Now, she would wait for the right time.  In the fresh stillness her mind 
wandered over the years, over her situation, over her need.  She had been 
to worse places and had done much worse things to satisfy her hunger.  
She thought back and was amazed at how calloused she had become to all of 
this, toward all sexual things in general.  Her mind finally came to rest 
on how it all started; how she was then; that night so long ago when her 
entire life changed.

..........

Bess is what she was called then.  Her mother had named her Elizabeth, 
after The Queen, for she was born on her coronation day.  She worked as a 
house servant, a maid, indentured into the house of Lord Cabbot, the 
county magistrate, to settle her father’s debts.  She was a fetching 
young maiden and she caught the fancy of many a young townsmen as well as 
traveling merchants.

Her heart had belonged to a strong, handsome young man who had asked for 
her hand but lacked the money to buy out her servitude.  After much 
discussion and many tears they had settled on his plan to seek his 
fortune overseas while she waited for him to return and free her.  

Every night she walked down to the inn at the crossroads and watched for 
the arrival of the coach from Brighton; waiting for her love to come 
home.  Every night she waited and every night she went home in bitter 
disappointment.  Weeks passed.  Months passed.  Years passed and still no 
word from her love.  Many men, young and old, wealthy and more wealthy 
asked for her hand and to buy out her debt.  She would not hear of it.  
She waited resolutely for her young man to return to her.  

As the years passed, her beauty slowly faded until nothing was left but a 
tired old woman.  Likewise, all of her young woman anticipations had 
crumbled into old woman regrets.  None the less, she continued her 
nightly vigil out of habit more than hope, the thought of forsaking it 
was maddening to her.  She had emptied herself into her expectations and 
become a ghost haunting her own life.  Children laughed at her for a 
fool.  They taunted her and called her The Seaman’s Wife.  She laughed at 
herself.  She laughed until she cried.  The promise of her youth and 
beauty had been wasted on a lost dream.  Yet, she kept on with her 
nightly sentry in front of the inn.  A victim of her own faith, diligence 
and love, she became the very portrait of sadness.  

It was on that particular, fateful, moonlit night, she was making her way 
through town on her nightly watch for the coach when she saw a dark 
cloaked figure standing at the side of the market square.  Bess thought 
it odd to encounter much of anyone in her nightly walk but this one was 
exceptionally strange.  As Bess approached the square the figure turned 
to face her but did not move in any other way.  Bess passed on the 
opposite side of the road, the figure stood silently, turning slowly to 
mark Bess’ passage.  As Bess walked by she watched the figure.  Under the 
hood, drawn low over the figure’s face, she could see only a dainty 
feminine chin and a small mouth smiling slightly as if in recognition.

Bess continued on toward the crossroads and tried not to trouble herself 
about the encounter.  She glanced back to again take note of the solitary 
figure.  To her surprise the woman had quietly crossed the road and was 
now following.  Bess doubled her pace, her mind pouring over what manner 
of being was behind her and what did she seek.  As she reached the 
crossroads she turned to look over her shoulder again and saw that the 
cloaked woman was gaining on her.  

As she looked, she noted the woman’s carriage was so smooth and graceful 
she seemed to float above the ground, and her step was so light she made 
not a sound.  It filled Bess’ heart with dread as the mysterious figure 
took on specter-like prowess.  She hurried herself to a near trot, 
seeking the light and relative safety of the inn.  Her imagination ran 
wild over the horrors and mystery of the dark.  Each step she made became 
a struggle for her existence, every breath she took she feared to be her 
last.  She broke into a full run, desperate to reach the inn.  She felt 
as though claws and fangs were just inches behind her, ready to snatch 
away her life.

When she reached the lantern post in front of the inn she grasped it for 
support and protection and spun around to find the dark, phantom figure a 
mere 5 paces behind her, hovering in eerie silence amid the dim shadows.

“Who approaches?  Speak thy bidding,” blurted Bess, unable to bridle her 
waxing fear!

The cloak parted.  One pale, delicate hand raised in admonition while the 
other drew back the hood.  “Courage, gentle heart,” said the woman in a 
soft, soothing voice.  “I bear thee no malice.”  Her manner and diction 
were that of gentry or at least one who passed among them.  The opened 
cloak revealed a bodice of intricately embroidered silk, trimmed with the 
finest of French lace.  Coils of light golden locks framed the face of a 
fair, young maiden with skin white as cream and smooth as porcelain, and 
cheeks glowing in a soft kiss of rose.  “I would speak with thee this 
night,” she continued.  

Bess’ fear gave way to relief in the presence of so fine a lady.  “Thy 
pardon, m’ lady.  ‘tis the late hour trying on an old woman’s mind,” she 
sighed and curtseyed.  “At thy service.”

The young woman advanced a pace and coolly asked, “Art thou she who is 
named Bess, maid servant to The Lord Magistrate?”

“Aye, m’ lady,” Bess answered obligingly.

“’tis thy habit to greet the coach by the inn every eve,” pressed the 
lady?

“Aye.  I am here... every night,” replied Bess.  It was odd to be addressed 
so directly by a stranger but Bess deferred in light of the woman’s 
obvious station. 

“Thou art she who bade farewell to her love nigh on many years ago,” 
continued the maiden, still advancing?

“Aye, again m’ lady,” Bess answered sadly.

“And thou art she who waits by the side of the road for his return these 
nigh on many years hence,” asked the maiden?

“Aye, m’ lady.  How knowest thou my misfortunes,” Bess asked with a sob?

“Thy tale of woe forebears thee.  Be comforted,” said the maiden, now 
standing toe to toe with Bess and placing a hand on her shoulder, “I 
bring thee a gift of great value.”

“O grace, what gift could this tired old woman value,” asked Bess in a 
sunken voice?

“A gift that would repair thy broken life.  I would impart to thee a new 
life and lives many times fold,” said the enchanting young lady, her 
voice rising to a disturbingly sinister mirth.

“I beg thy pardon m’ lady but ’tis folly.  Surely thou jests with me,” 
said Bess, feeling uneasy with so strange a statement and the unnatural 
evil the notion implied.

“A gift of eternal life and beauty,” persisted the maiden, her face now 
but inches from Bess’.  “I offer thee The Jharum and its many blessings.”  

She brought her lips to Bess’ as for to kiss her.  Horror stricken, Bess 
stepped back and into the road.  “’tis devilry!  Thou art a witch,” 
accused Bess!  Her eyes were wild with terror and backing further away 
she pointed a finger in warning.  “Fie on thee, spirit!  Be gone and let 
a good soul pass!”  In a panic, Bess ran headlong down the road to escape 
the dreaded menace.  She looked back toward the inn as she turned at the 
crossroads and saw the young woman advancing on her, cloak drawn, and 
gliding over the wayside in the same graceful, strident gait

Bess’ heart raced as fear gripped her like never before.  She ran now not 
just for her life but for her very soul.  Passing the market square, she 
tripped on a loosened cobblestone and fell upon the road.  As she 
gathered herself and rose to her feet she glanced back to see the lady in 
steadfast pursuit, cloak flying behind her and gaining fast.  Bess 
redoubled her pace, darting around corners and through alleys, seeking 
the shortest way home and trying to evade the caped woman’s sight.  

At last she arrived at her master’s courtyard and sought quick refuge.  
Her mind was in alarm and she expected the terrible specter to spring 
upon her at any instant.  She ran to the open stable door and stumbled 
again, sprawling onto her back over the bed of straw.  She was too weary 
to run any more and she lay still, hoping she was beyond danger.  She 
caught her breath to stifle any sound and waited; too scared to move.  

Then, absolute doom seized her.  The dark shadow of a cloaked figure fell 
across her and blocked the moonlight shining through the doorway.

Without uttering a sound the elegant lady stepped lightly to Bess’ side, 
untied the cloak and then cast it off her shoulders.  She sank slowly to 
her knees and placed a pacifying hand to Bess’ brow.  “Fear not,” she 
whispered, “All will be well.  Thou shalt feel no pain nor lose thy soul.  
‘tis not witchcraft, ‘tis the opening of thine own being.  Thou shalt 
have The Jharum.  Thou shalt regain thy lost youth.  Thou shalt know 
splendor like none other.  Thy reward - a new life.”

The woman bent over Bess and kissed her forehead and then lightly kissed 
Bess’ lips.  Bess remained frozen, resigning herself to her fate.  The 
woman talked madness and Bess felt fear like damnation tearing her in 
two.  Whatever ruin was to befall her, she hoped it would be over soon.

“Partake of me,” whispered the woman as she pressed her lips firmly to 
Bess’.  The woman’s tongue parted Bess’ lips and entered her mouth.  
Almost instantly, warmth, strange yearnings, and a lurid awareness swept 
over Bess.  She became immediately filled with a lust like she had never 
known.  She felt for the first time all the wanton urges she had always 
shunned bursting upon her with a craving throughout her body.  

She lifted her arms and wrapped them tightly around the woman’s neck.  
Strangely, this powerful new lust was driving her to pursue the promise 
of pleasure in this woman’s contact and she did not want her to escape.  
As soon as she did this, the woman’s hand began to stray to Bess’ dress.  
The hand began pulling the dress up higher and higher up Bess’ legs.  She 
gathered Bess’ skirt and petticoats around her waist and then gently 
probed beneath her shift.  Bess was too lost in the overwhelming passion 
to have any concern at all over sin or impropriety.  She welcomed the 
encroachment with hearty joy.  Bess felt the woman’s fingers lightly 
gliding up her thigh and coming to the edge of her nether region.  The 
woman’s fingers expertly explored Bess’ parted flesh and then centered on 
the pleasurable button at the top of the cleft.  

Bess’ hips began to roll and buck under the ministration of the 
stranger’s hand.  Bess felt herself quickly climbing to that pinnacle of 
pleasure and then it hit her.  The love-death - a climax.  A sensation 
unknown to her in all of her life, a rapture that made her entire body 
sing with delight.  Bess moaned as the sweet thrill overcame her.  She 
knew more was to come but for now she would relax and enjoy the ensuing 
peace. 

The woman then rose to her knees and started lifting her own dress.  She 
pulled up her skirt, her kirtle and many fine linen petticoats.  Bess 
watched her carefully to see what would now develop.  When the lady had 
bared her womanhood, she stroked it briefly and then Bess heard a wet 
smacking sound.  In the dim light she thought she saw something emerging 
from the woman’s cleft.  It emerged and dangled like an eel and then it 
began to twist and writhe with a life of its own like a snake’s tail.  
Bess knew she must indeed be smitten by passion to not recoil in fear 
from so strange an appendage.  She felt only slight curiosity and a 
hungry passion as the woman straddled her prone hips and squatted her sex 
directly over Bess’.  

The woman looked deep into Bess’ eyes and with a playful smile said, 
“Dream.”  Then she fell upon Bess with a tight embrace and another deep 
kiss.  Bess gladly received it as the kiss wove more of its spell upon 
her.  She gently sucked at the beautiful lady’s tongue like a babe at its 
mother’s breast.  Bess became aware of a wet, finger-like tongue licking 
up and down the gap of her sex.  Its touch was so deft and clever, giving 
the sweetest, most delightful attention to Bess’ sensitive flesh.  She 
gladly parted her legs to give it more access.  Its light tickle and the 
woman’s intoxicating kiss were again pushing Bess to that blessed extreme 
of pleasure.  A crashing crescendo struck her again, causing her to moan 
in delight.

The snake-like tongue then surprised Bess with another of its talents.  
It dove into her flesh and gained access to her womb.  As it entered her, 
Bess felt its girth widening, reaching resistance and then a sharp pain.  
At a ripe old age of forty nine Bess had finally lost her virginity... to 
another woman.  The pain was brief and in her highly aroused state of 
mind it was of trivial notice.  In an instant after that, Bess felt the 
queer tongue quickly reaching depths of her body a woman reserves for her 
beloved husband.  Bess was only briefly startled before pleasure washed 
away all concern.  She felt her inner passage completely filled with the 
delving invader.  It massed itself at the very limit of her inner 
recesses and then she felt a tiny point groping inside, tickling its way 
around in her until it found passage into a yet deeper niche.  It 
secreted something there and then gained an entry, Bess’ pleasure took on 
entirely new dimensions.  Another climax was approaching, quicker than 
the last, sending her mind spinning.  After it hit, its successor fell in 
behind.  

The woman remained locked to her in a tight embrace, lightly stroking 
Bess’ cheek and softly cooing.  Never before had she felt so possessed 
and cared for, it was the most beautiful feeling she had ever known.  She 
let herself be bathed in this strange lady’s wiles and trusted herself 
completely to this woman’s will.  Bess felt herself getting weaker and 
gradually losing consciousness.  Deep pleasure, happiness, peace and then 
sleep with the most delightful dreams.


By Sailbad@storiesonline.org

  
Charmed1