There was as orphan maiden who lived alone in the woods. She had no particular craft or talent but was an exquisite beauty who gave herself to passing farmers or tradesmen for food or a little money. She delighted in a man’s head between her legs, her strong thighs holding him to her as she softly moaned, delighting in their rough hands moving across her breasts, their cocks moving in and out of her body. But there was a snake who lived under her bed, a large, perfectly smooth, black satin snake who loved her more than anything or anyone, who felt the pain of wanting her with every man she took to her bed. One evening, the snake could not be still any longer and when her lover had left and the maiden lay sleeping, the snake climbed over her, coiling himself around her hips, placing his head at her join, his tongue dipping in and out of her source. “And now you are mine,” hissed the snake, injecting his poison into her, “for any man who puts himself inside of you will die from my venom.”
She did not hate her snake lover. He did love her, after all, in his own slightly, slimy way. His tongue was amazing, reaching far deeper than any man could ever reach while his tail moved effortlessly in and out of her rear entrance. He brought her food, he was company in her lonely, wooded world. But she missed hands moving over her body, holding her, fingers exploring her insides, lips on her lips, lips on her nipples. She missed the touch and the kiss of a man.
One day, a handsome traveler came to her door for water and was so taken with her beauty that he asked if he could have her, and in a whisper, so as not to wake the serpent below her bed, she explained the curse put upon her by the snake. The traveler slowly and carefully untied the laces that held her bosom, he undressed her till she stood before him in her gossamer gown. He told her to lie on the bed and he lifted the fabric, inhaling her heat, touching her, kissing her. His hands and lips slowly moved from her ankles, up her strong legs and thighs to brush the fur at her mound. Every hair on her body stood straight, every touch was electric, every kiss an arrow to her center. He held his warm and silky hands at her belly, his long fingers rolling over the hills of her hips. He massaged her full breasts and fit his lips on her erect nipples, his tongue circling their pointed presence in his mouth. He kissed her collarbone, her jaw, her lips, his tongue impossibly deep and thick in her throat. She began to tremble, she felt the waves begin in her feet, and the traveler pulled at the lips of her pussy till she was opened wide and he could see the tremors inside her. She flooded the bed with her come as never before, an endless flow of liquid, her sex spilling over the mattress and onto the floor, drowning the snake beneath them in his own venom.
Free from her curse, unleashed from the bonds of possession, the maiden and the handsome traveler made love for days in her humble cottage. He left her and never returned, but the maiden would never forgot how he saved her—how she was set free by the touch of a man.
Excerpt from The near Transformation of Claire
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