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                 K R I S T E N' S    C O L L E C T I O N
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This work is copyrighted to the author © 2012.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  All rights reserved. Thank you for your 
consideration.
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Master Of Her Secret Desires
by Alex Mort (mort.alex67@gmail.com)

***

Betsey finds herself in a strange, oppressive, alien 
world where her deepest, darkest, most hidden desires 
can be realised. (MF, fantasy)

***

Authors Notes: Firstly, I didn't write this erotic 
story for myself. My tastes in erotic fiction are 
altogether different. A female friend showed me a cg 
animation. She said she found it incredibly erotic. It 
was of a woman who was bound by the hands to a 
horizontal bar and was hanging by her wrists. An ogre 
was pounding her from behind and her belly was 
expanding with each thrust. I can't say that I got it, 
but I knew a little about my friend's erotic fantasies 
and we'd talked about writing a story for each other.

I suddenly realised the possibilities of using this to 
my advantage. I could write in a style that I had 
never tried before; that being third person, present 
tense, narrated. I liked the idea of the immediacy of 
the present tense and the idea of being the narrator, 
not simply the writer really appealed to me. Also, I 
wanted to write something that would give my friend 
pleasure.

This is a strange story. It deals with creatures, 
humiliation and darkness – a sort of erotic Mervyn 
Peake; If I may be permitted to be so bold… I do not 
claim to be anything like the writer he was. I simply 
like the idea of trying to emulate this literary 
genius.

So, if sex between a woman and non-humans is 
unpalatable to you, I suggest you read no further. 
Also, if you are below the age required in your 
country to read adult material please don't read this.

Thank you.

AM

One: Grunkel

Acre upon acre of graves, tombs, crypts, sepulchres, 
mausoleums and vaults; curling thorns and vines, 
strangling, clawing. Death lives here; the reminders 
of the fallen, forgotten in timeless apathy. No one 
tends the overgrown, stunted gardens. Even the sun has 
forsaken this place.

Inside one of the crumbling crypts is a tomb. Brittle 
creepers crawl across the cold stone. On top a woman 
lies prostrate; her thick, wavy chestnut hair cascades 
about her head; her skin is pale and translucent in 
the half-light. Gradually her eyes open. Her pupils, 
fully dilated cover the iris. She pulls herself 
gradually up onto her elbows.

Where am I?

Lost. Lost to perpetual twilight.

How did I get here?

An erotic dream; an image, a scene. Sleeping, perhaps.

She looks down at herself.

Her body is hourglass shaped. Her head is topped with 
thick tresses of chestnut and auburn; her lips are 
full and dark; her brown eyes, questing. She wears a 
silvery silken gown.

A surprise.

This isn't mine. I was wearing... a t-shirt and jeans.

She feels no fear. Something familiar moves deep 
within the confines of her chest; an excitement, a 
swelling. A slithering of sensual memory moves into 
her stomach.

A beast. An ogre. A monstrous creature of her lust. 

'I do know this place.' She speaks aloud for the first 
time. Her words echo off the dead walls. No voice has 
been heard here before. 

She stands. Her large nipples push against the filmy 
material of her gown. Her feet are bare. She balances 
carefully, feeling the grit and earth against her 
souls. She walks on tiptoe. An iron gate creeks in 
submission as she pushes it. She looks out and surveys 
the landscape.

The feeling of anticipation grows. Her eyes widen and 
she unconsciously touches her belly. The butterflies 
flutter within her; a serpent slithers and a wolf 
calls for a mate. 

'Where are you?' She calls, softly at first. 'I know 
you're there. I can feel you. Where are you?'

Her need is building. Her senses crying out in 
anticipation and impatience. 

A voice: Deep like a chasm; powerful as the raging 
ocean. 'I am the morbid master of your desire. I will 
call for you at my convenience. You may wander my 
halls and corridors; explore my kingdom. Food and wine 
are laid out in the dining hall. You will be attended 
to by my servants by and by. I feel your hunger. It 
will be satisfied; but not all at once. Let my 
servants attend your immediate needs.'

She sighs. Presently she wanders forward, 
disappointment etched across her forehead; her lips a 
pout. She walks across a wasteland of earth and stone. 
She shivers, wrapping her arms around her full 
breasts; her darkly painted, tapered fingernails 
gripping her shoulders. Her cascading hair whips back 
as a sudden gust of wind howls in her ears.

'Betsey...' A course, tinny voice.

'Who's that? Who's there?'

'The Master sent me to guide you to the hall.'

She turns, trying to locate the voice. There he is; a 
small, skinny creature in gay clothing; a large 
knotted, veiny protuberance falling from his doublet 
almost dragging on the ground. His eyes appear as 
those of a cat with vertical pupils, but with glowing 
aquamarine irises. On his chest are three rows of 
round breasts, pushing against his tight shirt, 
buttons straining. 

'I am Grunkel, third servant to the Master. Please 
follow.'

He drops onto all fours as he begins to lead her away. 
A short tail waves gently above his hindquarters. He 
glances back; a grin on his swarthy, hairless face. 

She begins to follow. Her breasts bob against the silk 
of her gown; her nipples chasing shadows up and down. 
A dark area between her legs appears with each 
footstep. 

His grin widens and leads her away.

*

The dining hall is a vast cavern hewn from solid 
granite. The walls are smoke-stained and dark. Great 
torches hang in rusty brackets; their distances 
irregular. A great glass chandelier hangs over the 
centre of the room. Cobwebs hang from its dusty tiers 
like nicotine stained net curtains. The room is almost 
completely bare, except for a huge table with one 
chair at the end.

Grunkel leaps onto the great mahogany table and turns 
towards Betsey. 

'The great dining hall,' he says with a flourish. 
'Sit.'

One chair stands at the far end. On the table in front 
of it is a pitted, pewter plate piled with fruit; 
bright red apples, ripe green pears, bananas and 
grapes. There are two more plates; one contains sweet 
meats and another cheeses. A glass decanter of crimson 
wine catches the flickering flames and appears to 
dance. There are two glasses.

Her hope rises. Perhaps he intends to join me here.

Grunkel hops from the table and stands behind the 
chair indicating for Betsey to sit. She obeys. He 
pours some wine into one of the glasses and offers it 
to her.

She accepts. 

She sips.

The wine is at room temperature, which is somewhere 
between chilly and cool. The taste is rich, deep. She 
makes a small satisfied sound and the creature fills 
the glass.

Hope is dashed.

Grunkel pours wine into the other glass and drains it. 
'The Master keeps an excellent cellar,' he says with a 
greedy laugh. His eyes are once more on her body; 
crawling over her, feeding, exposing. 

He sits on the table once more, opposite her. His 
penis jumps slightly and bangs against the mahogany as 
he continues to ogle her body. Her nipples pressed 
hard against the silk betraying her and her eyes are 
inevitably drawn to the casually bouncing penis in 
front of her. The grin returns.

'You are quite lovely, my dear.'

'Thank you,' she replies half covering her breasts 
with an arm.

'You have such exquisite desires. Your hidden secrets 
are exposed in this place. Here you have no need to 
feel ashamed. All things are possible. Your heart's 
desires are our nourishment.'

She is suddenly embarrassed, her carefully guarded 
secrets uncovered. She is ashamed.

Grunkel laughs. 'There is no shame here. No one can 
see you. Your other life is far away.'

He rises onto all fours and slowly crawls towards her. 
His penis hangs just above the table, waving slightly 
from side to side. She sips the wine, nervously; her 
mouth suddenly dry. Her heart beats loudly within the 
cage of her ribs. Her eyes are wide.

Grunkel pushes the plates aside with a casual hand. He 
is right in front of her now. His aquamarine eyes are 
glowing. His tongue slips between his lips, pink and 
wet. He sits down on the edge of the table. His penis 
hangs down in front of her. It moves gently from side 
to side with each breath. Her own breath catches.

'Pass me your glass, Betsey.'

Betsey obeys.

Grunkel snaps the top button from his shirt and 
exposes two of his conical breasts. He puts her glass 
beneath one of them and grips the breast firmly. Three 
golden drops drip from the nipple into her wine. He 
hands it back.

'Drink.'

She hesitates. 

'It's just something to relax you, my dear.'

'You mean a drug?' She is appalled.

'No. It is a gift from the Master. It was no accident 
that I was to greet you and bring you here. It will 
not remove or obstruct your own will. It will merely 
relax any tension you may have and heighten your 
sensations. Your consciousness will remain unchanged.'

'I'm fine, thank you.'

'A pity,' he says lowering the glass. 'It is the 
Master's wish.'

'Then it is not my will,' she answers quickly. 'You 
said my will would not be obstructed and yet you wish 
me to go against it even now.'

'You misunderstand, my dear. You are here in this 
place because you have certain desires.' He draws the 
last word out with relish. 'The Master needs to feel 
that you are fully aware of what you truly want as a 
matter of fact and reality. If it is merely a dream, a 
fantasy, you do not need us. You may dream and imagine 
whatever you wish. But, if you wish to experience the 
things you desire, you must give in completely to 
those desires without resistance. There must be no 
doubt in your mind. Do you understand, Betsey?'

'Yes. Blue pill, red pill,' she answers.

She takes the glass from him and looks at the 
contents. The wine appears the same colour as before. 
She smells it. It smells the same.

She looks levelly at Grunkel. His smile is still there 
but there is a hint of anxiety. 

She moves the glass to her lips.

The creature blinks.

The glass tilts.

A rivulet of crimson runs along the glass and stops 
against her dark upper lip. Her tongue licks at it.

Grunkel watches now, unblinking.

The glass tips further.

She swallows.

Her eyes widen; her pupils narrow.

A slow smile crosses her lips.

The empty glass stands back on the table.

Grunkel lets out a long held breath.

Betsey leans forward, eyes fixed on his. She reaches 
her hand down to his penis, still hanging between 
them. Her hand can barely encompass its girth. The 
skin gives a little under her grip. Her hand tightens 
slightly; her eyes continue to stare into his.

'And what comes out of this?' She laughs and pulls him 
towards her.

He leers at her, but doesn't answer.

The temperature rises about her. Her heart quickens at 
the fire in his eyes. Time seems to stand still. The 
room seems to recede away into darkness. Only she 
remains with Grunkel's throbbing member in her hand; 
his glowing aquamarine eyes drawing her in. Her desire 
quickens and her hand begins to move up and down the 
knotted shaft. The serpent in her belly slithers once 
more. She leans forward, parting her dark full lips. 
Grunkel stands, stepping onto her lap, forcing his 
penis into her mouth. She feels the veins as it slips 
in deeper. Her tongue pushes against the moistening 
tip. 

Suddenly he grips her hair and thrusts deep into her 
throat. She doesn't gap or wretch. That reflex seems 
to have gone. She begins to slide her lips up and down 
the long shaft, her eyes closed. His body is against 
her face, small yet strong. He thrusts again and she 
feels him once more against her throat. He grunts and 
his thin fingers grip her hair tighter. She feels 
exquisite pain in her scalp. A moan escapes her lips.

'Take off the gown,' he orders.

She pushes the chair back and he stands back on the 
table. She lets the silk fall to the floor without 
thought or question.

Grunkel leaps to the chair and grabs at one fat 
breast, kneading it between his fingers. Betsey throws 
her head back. Her long tresses fall down her exposed 
back. He pinches her right nipple hard and twists it. 
She gasps. His sharp teeth are on it and she feels the 
skin pinch. He sucks at it, still gripping it hard. 
Sharp pain is mixed with intense pleasure. His other 
hand reaches down between her legs and covers her sex.

He smiles and slips one long finger between her labia, 
down to the entrance to her womanhood and her wetness. 
His finger traces an agonisingly slow path up again, 
lubricating her pouting, engorged lips until it 
finally reaches her clitoris. She lets out a long 
breathy moan. His wiry finger begins to move in 
faster, circular movements; his long fingernails 
giving her an almost electric spark.

Time passes... How many climaxes, she can not 
remember. 

Three? Four? A thousand?

She is not satiated yet.

I want more. I want that big knotted cock deep inside 
me.

Grunkel, smiling mischievously, moves away from her. 
He licks his lips and his eyes flare. 

'Stand,' he says, simply. 

She obeys.

He pushes her against the table until her bottom hits 
the wooden edge. He reaches out, gropes one full 
breast, and unceremoniously pushes her until she is 
lying against the hard wood. Her long dark hair 
cascades across the table top, wet with perspiration 
and spilt wine.

Grunkel pulls the chair between her ripe thighs and 
mounts it. He grips her hips; fingernails rake skin. 
His small but powerful hips thrust forward; his 
knotted penis opens her up and slides in; her labia 
are stretched by his gnarled shaft almost to breaking 
point.

She gasps and turns her head. She bites her lips. 

Metallic taste. Blood. 

Something unexpected is happening inside her. Her 
split lip is forgotten and she looks down her body. 
Grunkel's penis is growing inside her. She can feel 
her vagina distend; her labia are spread like crushed 
rose against her vulva. She notices without alarm that 
her stomach is swollen like an elongated balloon. 

'Oh God!'

He begins to pump into her. She can not believe she 
isn't torn to pieces; but somehow her body is 
accepting him, devouring him.

A smile slips across her lips like moonlight touching 
a midnight lake, before being hidden once more by 
cloud. His glands push against her cervix and the 
swelling of his shaft continues. 

Her head falls back against the table once more, damp 
hair sticks to her shimmering face. Her eyes close.

Then she feels it. It happens like water flooding from 
a broken damn. His seed flows like a tidal wave, 
filling her uterus. Her stomach swells more; her skin 
tight, veined like a woman in the very final stages of 
pregnancy. Her fingernails grip the dull wooden table 
top as his semen pours into her. Then when her body 
can accommodate no more, it begins to flow out of her 
in spurts, soaking his belly and running down her wide 
open legs to the stone floor. Her stomach begins to 
deflate, settling back to its original size, as 
Grunkel seems to wither and sinks onto the floor. 

Betsey gradually sits up and looks down at the strange 
creature that has just burst inside her sitting on the 
floor in a pool of his own seed. His features are 
drawn and his eyes appear sunken with exhaustion.

He looks up at her and speaks slowly, as though the 
effort was almost too much. 

'Lady. You have passed the first test. Attendants will 
be with you presently. I will not see you again. 
Goodbye, Lady Betsey.'

Slowly, with much effort he raises himself from the 
stone, dripping. He gives her a low bow and walks on 
all fours to the far side of the room, opens a door 
and disappears.

Betsey picks up her gown and dresses.

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. 4-million people around the world 
contract HIV every year. You only have one body per 
lifetime, so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 73